Vegas III: The Phantom Vegas
by XWaltzforVenusX
Summary: Did you really think it was over? Part III of the Vegas series. RT.
1. Month 1

_Omfg, Vegas-verse. Is anyone else as excited as I am? Probably not, but it's ok._

_This story has been in the back of my mind since V2 ended, and I've managed to fight writing it until now. So I hope you all enjoy, because I love writing Vegas. It makes me happy (read: absurdly giddy)._

_Just a few technical, chronological notes: Ryan and Taylor got married in early June, Summer had her baby in July and this is now August._

_Music: I sold your love down the river for a bow and arrow, Euphoria has just been here and she's looking terrible_

**

* * *

**

(Two Weeks Earlier)

"_Your plans suck."_

_I turn to glare at him over my shoulder before looking back at the little plastic stick in my hand. There's nothing yet, and it feels like forever before the little plus sign shows up._

_Crap._

"_Yup," I sigh, throwing the test on the counter. "I'm pregnant."_

"_How?"_

_I turn to face him – leaning against the bathroom door frame, arms folded, frowning and brooding. _

_How?_

"_Well," I start, feeding off the annoyance racing through me, "I'm assuming it happened the way these things tend to happen. Didn't they teach you sex ed in public school?"_

"_But aren't you on the pill?" He pushes off the door frame and walks up to the counter, carefully picking up the pregnancy test and the box. He holds them both to the light, comparing the results._

_Like I'm lying or something._

"_Yes, Ryan," I sigh, moving over to the full-length mirror. "But they're not a hundred percent. And don't blame this on me, Mr. I keep forgetting to wear a condom."_

"_Hey," he lets the little plastic stick and the box drop to the counter and turns to me, looking sullen, "we both agreed its better when I don't wear one."_

_I don't answer. Instead I stare at myself in the mirror. I don't look any different. I lift my shirt up and stare at my stomach. Nope. No difference. _

_He leans both hands on the counter and sighs._

"_So what now?"_

**

* * *

**

Month One: August

"I'm gonna be sick," she mutters to me, pressing a hand to her stomach.

"Do you need me to pull over?" I take my foot off the gas but she shakes her head _no_.

"Not morning sickness-sick. Just… I don't think I can do this."

"We'll be fine," I try to assure her, but I feel the nervousness myself. She doesn't answer, just stares out the window and holds her stomach.

Too soon we make it, and I park the Jeep behind Seth's mini-van. Shit. I'm gonna need a fucking mini-van soon, too.

Fuck.

"You want me to tell them?" Cody asks as we make our way up the porch steps.

"Yes," Taylor turns to him, looking relieved.

"No," I cut in, shaking my head. She frowns but I ignore that.

We told Cody a couple days ago – after we went to the doctor and made _absolutely_ sure. He'd been just as surprised as we were, probably because he knew about Taylor's five year plan. We weren't supposed to have kids for other two years.

She absolutely _sucks_ at making plans.

She makes an annoyed noise and stomps up the stairs faster, knocking loudly on the door. Cody shoots me a _way to go_ look and I sigh in response. Taylor's been a little angry at me lately.

Probably cause I knocked her up.

I keep trying to figure out when it happened. I know it doesn't really matter, but I just keep running it all through my head. Was it that time after I came home from work and found her baking and took her up against the kitchen island? Or maybe it was when we got there early to pick Cody up from soccer camp at the local school, and we took advantage of that empty classroom – fulfilling one of my longstanding _Taylor in high school_ fantasies.

I guess it really doesn't matter, cause the end result is the same. She's pregnant, we're having a kid, and now we have to tell everyone.

"Hey, kiddo," Sandy greets, opening the door. He slings an arm around Taylor and drags her inside, throwing a grin at Cody and me. We follow him in, to where Kirsten, Sophie, Seth, Summer, and Nicole are.

Sophie waves enthusiastically at Cody, who smiles and goes to sit next to her. She's really taken to her 'Uncle Cody', and I'm _really_ glad he's not annoyed by her eight-year-old antics. Actually, he seems to enjoy being the cool uncle. Even though he's – technically – her nephew, she still calls him uncle.

I have a fucked up family tree.

"So what's with the family meeting?" Seth asks, raising an eyebrow at me. He looks exhausted and pale and I feel my stomach lurch. I'm gonna be looking like that in nine months.

In Summer's lap, Nicole giggles, taking her fingers out of her mouth and waving them around. Summer bends down and kisses the girl's dark head and I watch Seth's eyes flick down to his one-month old daughter.

"We'll talk after dinner," I tell them, moving to sit down. Kirsten frowns at me and I shrug, sitting at my usual place, with Taylor next to me.

* * *

"What's wrong?" Kirsten asks as I twirl my spaghetti around on the plate.

"Hm?" I ask, looking up at her.

"You're not eating," she observes. "You love spaghetti."

"I guess I'm not hungry," I shrug, hoping she'll drop it. Next to me, Ryan stiffens up a bit at the exchange. Kirsten doesn't say anything else, though, and focuses back on Sophie. I don't look at anyone else – especially Ryan. I just stare at my spaghetti.

Things with Ryan and I have been… weird lately. Ever since we found out I was pregnant, things have gotten a little strained. And I know it's partly my fault – I'm always glaring and making snarky comments, but he's definitely not helping.

Because every time he looks at me, I see the panic.

Cody didn't freak him out. Adopting him was easier for Ryan than it was for me, so you'd think he'd be ok with us having a child of our own. But he barely touches me anymore, he's constantly running his hand through his hair or rubbing the back of his neck. He avoids eye contact with me, he's become – if possible – less talkative than normal.

"So what's your big news?" Sandy asks when everyone's basically finished.

I look over at Ryan to find him completely stiff, jaw clenched. Fucker.

"I'm pregnant."

I'm sure the dead silence is a _great_ sign.

"Oh," Kirsten's the first to break. "This is… good news, right?" Apparently she notices Ryan's… less than enthusiastic expression.

"Of course it's good news," Sandy jumps in to take the spotlight off his son. "Congratulations."

"Yeah, man," Seth takes the lead and claps his brother on the shoulder. Ryan nods, still wound tight.

Summer says nothing. Her eyes go from Ryan, to me, to Ryan again and her mouth sets in an angry line. She knows both of us well enough to get that something's off.

* * *

"Atwood," Summer drawls and I turn from the kitchen counter to watch her come in.

"Cohen," I mock. Her eyes narrow a bit at the dig, but she doesn't take the topic change. I know why she's really here.

"So tell me, why is your wife currently in the upstairs bathroom, crying?"

I sigh and run a hand over my face. "She's crying?"

"Well, she's pretending she has something in her eye, but yes, she's crying. What the hell?"

"I don't know," I shrug, even though it's kind of a lie. I know she's probably crying because I'm not all enthusiastic that we're having a kid, but I can't help it. I'm fucking panicking here, and I'm trying _not_ to, because I don't want _her_ to panic, but me not panicking turns into me not talking at all.

"Hey, remember back when you proposed to her?" Summer leans up against the counter next to me and starts to examine her nails, which is never a good sign.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, remember when I came back from my honeymoon and we had that _talk_?" I just nod this time and she nods in response. "And remember how I told you not to screw it up with her? And remember how I told you that if you ever hurt her again, I'd kill you?"

"It's not like I'm _trying_ to hurt her," I argue, feeling the energy drain out of me. I don't feel like doing this. I don't feel like fighting with Summer, I don't feel like facing Seth and the Cohens, I don't feel like taking care of Cody. And I don't feel like going home with my wife.

I'm a horrible husband.

* * *

"Cody, why don't you go do your homework?" Ryan says the minute we get inside. The boy shoots me a look and I nod in agreement. He still looks hesitant as he makes his way to his room and I can't help but feel grateful for his support.

Ever since Ryan did absolutely nothing after we told the Cohens I was pregnant, Cody's been shooting him glares every chance he got. Sometimes I still think of Cody as Ryan's, but it's little things like this – like him taking my side – that makes me think that someday, he'll feel like mine, too.

"Taylor," he takes my hand and leads me into the living area and sits me down on the couch.

"Is this the part where you tell me you're real sorry for being a complete ass?"

He sighs and sits next to me. "Pretty much. I'm freaking out here," he admits, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why?" I turn to face him and take his hand in mine. "We already have a kid," I remind him, eyes going to the ceiling to remind him of Cody. "It's only been two months, but I think we're doing pretty good, you know? With Bullit's help with Cody, we have the resources to raise a baby and once our house gets built, we'll have the room. I don't get why you didn't 'freak out' like this when we took Cody in."

He bites the inside of his lip as he thinks it over and I wait for him to talk. I've said my piece – even if it wasn't the whole thing. I didn't ask him if he's freaked out because the child has my genes. I won't go there right now.

"Cody," he starts off slowly, staring at the far wall like he's _really_ thinking this through, "was different. Cody is thirteen. This is a baby." I'm about to say something along the lines of _duh_, but he continues. "Do you know how many ways I can fuck up a _baby_?"

"Ryan."

"No, seriously." He finally looks at me, the panic evident and uncontrolled. "Cody's thirteen. He's capable of thinking on his own, he's already learned how to take care of himself. Taylor, this kid's gonna rely on me to fucking _raise_ it. I can't raise a kid."

"Ryan," I say again, trying to interrupt, but apparently he's me now, and he doesn't notice.

"You remember Flapjacks, right?" he puts his head in his hands and I resist the urge to grin, instead setting a hand on his shoulder in sympathy.

"That wasn't your fault…"

"I sent him to live with _Bullit_," he mourns.

Jesus, seriously? It's been like, seven years since the stupid rabbit died and he's still acting like it was yesterday – and like it was his child. And we don't even know that Flapjacks is _dead. _He could just be… lost.

"You couldn't take him to college, Ryan," I sigh, beginning to rub his back. "And you couldn't leave him with the Cohens, because Sophie was too young. How were you supposed to know Bullit would send him off to his ranch? And hey, maybe Flapjacks found a nice girl bunny and they have a happy bunny family down on the farm in Texas?"

"I'm not ten," he mutters, raising his head from his hands to glare at me. I resist the urge to remind him that he's acting like it.

"Ryan," I sigh again, taking his hand and patting it gently. He glares at the gesture and frowns, but lets me talk. "You're gonna be a _great_ father. I see how you are with Cody. He may not be a baby, but he's still a kid. And we babysit Nicole all the time. Watching you with her?" I don't finish the thought because he shifts uncomfortably – still unable to take praise.

I let him think, content to watch him brood – the way he stares off into space, jaw clenching and unclenching, eyes going all intense. I'm right, though. He'll be a wonderful father – I've known that for years. I know I wasn't around a lot when we were in college, but I came to holidays and I saw him with Sophie and Matthew.

Both of them were sprung on him within a year of each other and he handled it better than I could've. I remember one Chrismukkah – our second year in college. He and I hadn't been on speaking terms – even though we had sex twelve times over the course of that break – but I remember watching him from the kitchen. He was in the living room with Sophie and Matthew – their parents taking a much needed rest – and I just remember watching him… be. If it were me and two two-year-olds, I would've been freaking out and wondering if I was going to kill them or something. But Ryan sat on the floor with them and he just… was. No fear, no hesitation. He just smiled and watched and played with them, completely relaxed and that's when I knew he would make a great father.

"Taylor?"

"Hm?" I look over at him frowning at me and I realize he must've been talking to me. "Sorry, I was thinking."

"Yeah, me too."

"And?"

"And… I'll be ok. I'll just have to learn to handle it, but I have to know _you're_ ok."

"Me?" I ask, scrunching up my face to figure out what he's talking about.

"Yeah. I know you, Taylor, I know when you're freaking out." I widen my eyes to try and look innocent, but he shakes his head. "Don't give me that. You've been bitching at me nonstop for the past week."

"Not bitching," I mumble, picking at my nails. "Look, Ryan, I'm not freaked about having a baby with you." He raises one eyebrow, like he doesn't believe me. "I'm not. The only thing that scares me is the pregnancy thing."

"Uh huh," he goads, sitting back, eyebrow still raised.

"You know," I continue, shrugging. "The whole getting fat thing and having a baby thing? Apparently it hurts. I don't do well with pain, Ryan, you know that. Remember when I sprained my wrist trying to learn how to rollerblade?"

"You complained that entire month," he smiles, shaking his head.

"See? Don't do well with pain." He starts to laugh lightly and leans over to kiss me. "Are we ok?"

"Yeah, we're ok," he agrees, kissing me again. I grin against his mouth and shift so that I'm straddling his lap. He groans happily, hands coming to rest on my waist. He pulls back suddenly, catching my eye. "Can you call Summer and tell her we're ok?"

"What?"

"So she doesn't kill me," he explains and I nod, giggling a little.

I love Summer.

He reaches up to kiss me again and I sigh into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and settling myself properly on top of him – and by 'properly' I mean 'so I can feel him rubbing against me in _just_ the right way'.

"Oh, ew, seriously?" Cody's voice calls disgustedly from the doorway and we break apart.

"Cody," Ryan runs his hand over his face, not letting me get off his lap – probably so Cody won't see that he's hard. "I thought you were doing your homework."

"I came out to get a snack," the boy explains, wrinkling up his nose like he doesn't think he can eat anymore. "I thought you guys were fighting."

"Um… we're not anymore?" I venture and Cody rolls his eyes.

"Seth and Summer were right," he mutters, moving off toward the kitchen.

"Right about what?" Ryan calls after him, but Cody doesn't answer. "Right about what?" he calls again, louder this time and more annoyed.

I sigh and get off his lap. We're not having sex now and the baby has to pee.

_

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_

Review! You know you want to.


	2. Month 2

_Alright, so it's totally hurricaining out, so I'm stuck inside. Stupid freakish rain. But it's giving me time to write this (even though I should be doing my accounting homework)._

_Also, everyone seems to be fairly excited for Vegas III, so now I'm all nervous that... well, that I'll mess it up. Because I tend to fail at life like that. So hopefully this lives up to the hype (...and now I have Public Enemy in my head)._

_Music: she's in ecstasy, her hollowed sky pours down heavenly and fakes desire_

**

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**

Month Two: September

I lay on the table nervously as we wait for the doctor. It's my first ultrasound and I'm really freaking nervous. I mean, what if my baby's deformed or something? It _does_ have my genes – and therefore my mother's genes. And she's the devil, and devil children are supposed to be deformed, right?

"You ok?" he murmurs, squeezing my hand. I nod and bite my lip, staring at the door. He sighs. "Our child won't be deformed." I turn my head to look at him and he smiles at me.

I tell him way too much.

The door opens and we both turn to see a woman walk through, holding a clipboard. She came highly recommended, and I'm just glad it's a woman. I mean, there's nothing wrong with a male OBGYN, I just think I'd be more comfortable with a woman messing around down there. I _know_ Ryan's more comfortable with it. He'd all but demanded a woman doctor.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Kratz," she introduces herself, shaking my hand, then Ryan's. "How are we doing today?"

"Nervous," I answer, shifting a bit on the table. She nods, like it's a common reaction, which makes me feel better. I like this woman already.

She sits on the stool and starts looking over our chart as she asks us questions. After a couple minutes, Ryan's phone starts to vibrate and he shoots me an apologetic look as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. That's when I notice the doctor's eyes go to his hand.

Oh fuck no, she's looking for a wedding ring.

It's ok, I tell myself. It's a common reaction for a woman to look for a wedding ring, even when the guy's unavailable. Especially if he's hot – which Ryan is.

Which totally explains why I'm knocked up.

"I gotta take this," he mutters, frowning. "It's work."

"Fine," I sigh and he shrugs at me.

"Sorry." He gets up and leaves the room and I let my eyes follow his progress. I really shouldn't think about how hot he is when there's other people around…

The thought makes me turn back to the doctor, and I find her staring at my husband as he goes. And yes, her eyes are directed at the same place mine were.

"Hey," I snap, narrowing my eyes.

"Excuse me?" she turns back, startled.

"That is _my_ ass, ok?"

"I… what?"

"We're married, so that ass belongs to me, got it?"

She turns bright red and we both stay silent, waiting for him to come back in. When he does I keep my eyes on her, but apparently the little whore can't help herself and her eyes drop straight to his crotch as he walks back over to us.

"Oh for the love of God," I throw up my hands and Ryan gives me a confused look and the doctor gets even redder. "Look, lady, if you're going to stare at my husband, could you at least have the decency to do it when I'm not around? Or, if you can't manage that, at least _try_ and be discreet about it."

"Taylor, what?"

"You know what, we're going." I stand up and grab my clothes and the doctor keeps her head low as she pretty much runs out of the room.

"Ok, I'm confused. Taylor." He grabs my shoulders as I start to pull off the stupid paper gown thing.

"She was two seconds away from jumping you right in front of me!" He actually starts to laugh and I glare as I gather my clothes. "Not funny."

"Fine," he relents, still grinning. Then he slides his hands around my waist and pulls me into him. "How about we get back at her by having sex on the exam table?" His head dips down to kiss my neck and I sigh.

"See, this is how I ended up pregnant," I mutter and place my hands on his chest to push him away.

"Really?" he shoots back sarcastically. "And here I thought it was immaculate conception."

"Nope," I shake my head and pull on my pants. "Just you and your insatiable horniness."

"I'm not insatiable," he tries to argue, but it doesn't really work, because he stares at my chest as I put my bra back on.

"Let's go," I ignore the stare. "We need to find a new doctor."

* * *

"Hi there!" The woman comes into the room, her outfit bright pink under the white coat. "I'm Dr. Laura!"

On the exam table, Taylor scrunches up her face. "Is your last name Laura or are you using your first name with the 'doctor'?"

"Oh, my last name's McNally, but it's just easier if you call me Dr. Laura!"

I see Taylor's body tighten a little as the woman grins and starts looking at the chart. She shoots me this _look_, which I can only interpret as _are you kidding?_ I shrug.

"Alright, looks like you're about seven weeks in, is that right?"

"Yes," I answer before Taylor can come out with some comment.

"Oh," the doctor sighs, eyes starting to water. "Babies are such a miracle, aren't they?"

"...and we're out of here," Taylor sits up and gets off the exam table as Dr. Laura's eyes widen in confusion.

* * *

"Ok, this guy came with a bunch of recommendations," Ryan whispers at me, sitting on the stool next to the exam table and holding my hand. "Apparently he's really good."

I nod and lay back on the table. This guy _needs_ to be good. We've already had enough problems with the whole OBGYN thing. And now that Ryan's over his fear of some guy sitting between my legs, this might actually work.

"Hello!" The door opens and I turn to see my new doctor and…

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, blowing a stray hair out of my face. The _doctor_ stops and looks confused and I hear Ryan sigh. "What are you, twelve?"

"Um… what?" Doogie sets his clipboard on the counter and stands there nervously.

"Where the hell is my real doctor?"

"I am… um… I'm Dr. Freel," he introduces, like I'm a giant idiot who can't read his nametag.

"Yeah, you can't be my real doctor, cause, see, you look like you're still in high school. Now why don't you go age about twenty years and come back then, alright?"

"Taylor," Ryan sighs, putting his head in his hand. "I'm sure he's a good doctor."

"Thank you," the _doctor_ starts.

"Hey, jailbait, why don't you go find me a real doctor?"

"Um…"

I narrow my eyes at the little bastard as Ryan sighs again.

* * *

"Alright," the doctor starts cheerfully, grinning at us. "Are you comfortable?" He doesn't really wait for an answer, but Taylor's in a bad mood so she gives him one anyway.

"Do I _look_ like I'm comfortable?" she asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm knocked up, it's hot out, and you have me propped up in a harness, which I can only assume was first created as some weird sex device."

"Um…" the doctor's eyes go wide as she gestures to her feet in the stirrups.

"Really, is this necessary, or do you guys just get a kick out of seeing pregnant women like this?"

"I forgot my stethoscope," the doctor swallows hard and rushes out the door as Taylor glares.

I sigh.

"Taylor, stop it. You've scared off three doctors like that. The last one called you a devil woman."

"The last one was a wuss," she sniffs, folding her arms across her stomach and trying to look angry. It doesn't _quite_ work, what with her feet in the stirrups, which… alright, she has a point. She does look kind of ridiculous. But she doesn't need to freak out _another_ doctor. I'd rather not waste any more time trying to find another.

"Taylor," I warn as the doctor comes back in. She sighs.

"Fine." Then she pastes a smile on her face and turns to the doctor. "Dr. Pierce, I'd just like to apologize for my behavior. I'm sorry if I'm acting… evil, or whatever it was."

"The devil woman," I supply and she drops the smile and turns to glare at me.

"How is that helping, Ryan? How?" Then she turns back to the doctor and waves her arms at me. "This, right here, this is why I'm like this. Do you see what I have to live with? I have to deal with his snarky comments and then the other day he has the audacity to ask me if we can still have sex!"

"Taylor!" I jump in, feeling my face turn red. "There is no reason to tell people that, plus it's a valid question."

"Valid question?" she hisses, turning to me. "You do realize that's how I ended up in this situation to begin with, right?"

"That makes no sense. You can't get… like, _double_ pregnant."

"Yuh huh," she shoots back. "It's called twins, Ryan. Look it up."

"You can't get pregnant after you're already pregnant," I tell her, running my hand through my hair. "That is so far from the definition of twins."

"See?" she turns her head to the doctor. "Now he's calling me stupid."

"Stupid? Was the word 'stupid' in that sentence _anywhere_?" I ask the doctor, whose eyes keep flicking between me and her.

"Well," she answers, "if you take the S from so, and the T from twins, and the U from you, and the P…"

"I swear to God, if you finish that sentence, I'm filing for divorce," I cut her off. "She complains about living with _me_?" I direct at Dr. Pierce again, but I'm really talking to her. "I don't even understand half of what comes out of her mouth."

"How do you not understand?" she tries to sit up, but can't quite manage it.

"Cause you break into French half the time and you use all these unnecessarily big words. And all of those weird cultural references you and Seth make? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then why don't you say something?" she asks, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because," I throw up my hands in annoyance. "I don't feel like sitting through a half hour explanation of why your joke _should_ _be_ funny, alright? I get enough crazy from you two, I don't need any more."

"I am _not_ crazy," she inhales sharply, eyes narrowing. "If my feet weren't in these stupid things, I would come over there and kick your ass, Atwood."

"Ooh, I'm terrified," I mock. "You're half my size, Taylor, and I used to cage fight. I'm not scared of you."

"You used to _cage fight?_" the doctor asks, but Taylor cuts him off.

"Oh, really? Well, why don't I just call Summer and tell her that, hm?" She tries to twist and grab her purse, but it's out of her reach and I start to laugh, because watching her struggle is funny. "Shut up, Ryan," she warns, turning to glare at me. "You're such an ass!"

"Well as long as we're name calling, you're… insane." I could've said bitch, it applies sometimes, but I know _insane_ gets to her.

"Get out."

"No."

"Dr. Peirce," she says sweetly and smiles at the man, who's looking really nervous right now. "Can you please kick him out for me?"

"Um…"

"I'm not leaving unless someone hauls me out of here," I tell Taylor, but it's really for the doctor. "And remember, I used to cage fight."

"Oh, very well done, Ryan," she says drily when our doctor starts to sweat. "First you yell at me for freaking our doctors out, and now you _threaten _one with physical violence?"

"No, I was only reminding him I used to cage fight. Not a threat."

"How about we continue the exam now?" Dr. Pierce cuts in, voice low and fearful. I cut off the snarky comment that this guy couldn't throw _Seth_ out of an exam room, let alone me. Taylor looks like she's debating whether she wants to continue this or not, too.

"Fine."

Dr. Pierce sighs and sits on his stool and picks up his chart. I sit on the chair next to the bed and Taylor glares at me.

Looks like we'll be finishing this at home.

* * *

I talk through the entire car ride home – I'm not exactly sure about what, but I rarely notice what I say when I really get a rant going.

He – on the other hand – says nothing and drives with some kind of angry determination, jaw clenched and hands white-knuckled on the wheel.

After Dr. Pierce started the 'exam' – if you can call it that, I call it pseudo-sex. I mean, seriously. I get on my back, spread my legs, he pokes around down there for a while and it all ends in him squirting sticky stuff on my stomach. Anyway, I happened to mention this theory while he was doing my ultrasound, which had started another round of passive aggressive comments from the both of us.

Oh, but our baby's healthy, by the way.

I clutch the ultrasound picture in one hand and make my way up to our apartment. I open the door and don't wait for him and I hear him grunt angrily when it slams in his face. He comes in after me, muttering something about how annoying I am and how he never should've married me if he knew I'd turn into such a bitch.

I'm about to start up the argument – again – and I turn to say something, when my elbow smacks into the wall.

"Ow," I hiss, crossing my arm over my stomach so I can hold onto the elbow with the other hand.

"Taylor?" He drops his keys on the hall table and rushes over to me, grabbing me by the shoulders. "Are you ok? Is everything ok? Do you need to go back to the doctor?"

I look up at him and his eyes are wide and fearful, searching my expression for any sign that I'm still in pain. "No, I'm ok. I just hit my elbow," I explain, lamely. Kind of a letdown after his panic attack, but still.

"Oh." He drops his hands from my shoulders in embarrassment and steps back. "Well… is your elbow ok?"

I can't help it – I start to giggle uncontrollably.

"What?" he asks, sounding defensive, but I can't stop. "What? Taylor?"

"Sorry," I manage to get out and I step into him and rest my head against his chest. "You called me a devil woman and I basically called our doctor a pervert for putting my feet in those things. It's just so stupid."

"Well," he wraps his hands around my waist and I feel his entire body relax as he kisses the top of my head. "Whatever I can say about you, you're never boring." I giggle again and he laughs a little, too. Probably relieved I'm not going to kick him in the groin or something. "You know I love you, right?" he murmurs into my hair.

I'm about to nod when something in me shifts. "I think I'm gonna be sick," I mumble and pull away.

"Too mushy?" he asks, but then the smile fades from his face when he sees mine. "Are you ok?"

"No. I think I'm gonna be sick," I repeat and push his hands off me so I can run to the bathroom.

I make it to the toilet just in time for my stomach to reject my lunch. Which… ew. I'm not sure I'm ever going to eat spaghetti again. Cool fingers touch my temples as he draws my hair back as I cough, trying to get that acidic feeling out of my throat.

When I'm sure I'm done, I stand up and he stands up with me. "Well, that was unpleasant," I grumble, moving over to the sink to rinse my mouth out and he flushes the toilet.

"Should we go back to the doctor?" he asks calmly, but I can hear the panic tingeing his voice.

"It's just morning sickness, I think," I tell him, straightening up.

"It's three in the afternoon," he shoots back.

"It can happen anytime," I tell him, reciting from my pregnancy book. "They just call it 'morning sickness' because most women get it when they wake up because their blood sugar is low."

"Oh."

"Well, it's nice to know _you're_ reading those books I bought you," I raise my eyebrow at him and he shrugs, ducking his head.

"I started to," he pouts. "But then Seth came over and he wanted to play GTA…"

"Oh, fantastic," I breathe, moving past him out the bathroom. "My husband – the father of my child – still gets distracted by video games."

"You still play with dolls," he tells me as we head into the kitchen.

"_One_ stuffed animal in our room and suddenly I play with dolls?"

"Taylor, you make the bear sing," he sighs, opening the fridge and handing me a bottle of water.

"_Once_," I remind him. "And he was singing you _Happy Birthday_. You think you could be a little nicer to him, you know."

"I didn't mean to throw him," he grumbles, turning back to the fridge to grab himself a water.

"You never apologized," I sniff, frowning at him. He glares at me over his shoulder but doesn't say anything. One of these days I'll get him to apologize for throwing Mr. Bear across the room on his twenty-seventh birthday. "If you don't apologize by next year, you won't get a song."

"I don't _want_ a song," he growls, eyes narrowing. "I'd rather have my regular birthday wake-up than a singing bear." I continue to frown – he _will_ apologize to Mr. Bear soon. He's just all angry that I didn't wake him up with a blowjob like I normally do on his birthday.

"Hey, maybe _that_'s when I got pregnant," I sit down at the counter and he sits with me. "Your birthday?"

"Nah," he shakes his head. "That was in June, you got pregnant somewhere in July."

"Right," I nod. "And that rules out the honeymoon."

"So are we good on the doctor thing?" he asks, looking at me like he's afraid I'll start something again. Not that I blame him – I _have_ bitched about every doctor we went to.

"Yeah, this one's fine. He's not too young, too cheery or hitting on you, so he's good."

"I liked him, too," he agrees, picking up the mail. "So long as he doesn't go hitting on _you_, I think we have a winner."

He flips through a couple of bills, tossing aside some junk mail before stopping at an envelope and frowning. "What?" I ask, trying to lean over to see what it is and I almost fall off my stool. He doesn't even notice – just stares at the letter. "What? _Ryan_," I whine, grabbing onto his arm and shaking him a little. He breaks out of his trance and looks over at me.

"What? Oh." Then he turns back and flips the letter over and opens it, tossing aside the envelope before I can get a hold of it. He reads the little off-white card and bites his lip.

"_Ryan_," I whine again, this time adding a bit of warning in.

"It's Trey," he mutters, finally looking at me. I frown and grab the thing out of his hands and read it.

"He's getting married?"

* * *

_Review!_


	3. Month 3

_So apparently V3 won't be as smut-tastic as 1 and 2 were, but given the circumstances, I think everyone can guess why. It's still rated for language and suggestion, though, cause I just can't help the cursing._

_Btw, this chapter was really, really hard to write so I hope it's alright. I can't help thinking that it's just not up to par with the rest of the series, so I hope you still enjoy!_

_Music: if the divine master plan is perfection, maybe next I'll give Judas a try_

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Month Three: October

"You can't get away," Seth grins as I shove clothes into my duffel bag. If Taylor were here, she'd glare at my lack of folding, but I don't care. I know she'll yell at me if she ever finds out, but I'm really too pissed to think about _folding_. "It's haunting you. Like a phantom."

"Seth, don't you have somewhere to be? Like not here?"

"Nope."

He says nothing else and watches me pack, arms folded, grin on his face. He's right, though – I can't get away. It just keeps pulling me back. No matter how hard I try, it's always there, looming, ready to try and ruin my life. It's a pit of doom and despair and I hate it.

_Vegas_.

Motherfucking goddamn _Vegas_.

One of these times, I won't make it out alive.

"You know, if I didn't have a deadline due this month, I'd totally go with you," Seth leans up against the wall.

"Right, cause you do _so _well in Vegas," I shoot back. If there's any consolation for my crappy trips there before, it's that Seth always has worse luck than I do. Case in point, he gets shaken down by a stripper and his girlfriend catches him, he finds out his girlfriend may be pregnant, he gets thrown in jail… alright, so I was thrown in jail, too, but Summer took it a hell of a lot worse than Taylor did.

"But it's so shiny there," he whines. "All those lights and the blinking machines and the noises they make when you win…"

"Are you actually trying to make a case _for_ Vegas?" I zip up the duffel bag and turn to him, rolling my eyes at the wistful expression on his face. "Vegas," I remind him, "is evil. It will eat your soul. Remember evil Vegas? All the bad stuff that's happened or come out of there?"

"Well, to be fair, that one time we never actually made it _to_ Vegas…" he tries, trailing off.

"Yeah, we got sidetracked by an alien," I monotone. "A slutty alien who stole your girlfriend's pregnancy test, whose boyfriend and/or drugged-up-one-night-stand chased us down for stealing it back."

"Good times."

"Whatever," I mutter, throwing the duffel bag on the floor next to Taylor's suitcase.

"C'mon man, just think positively, you know? Like that tape Summer always listens to… the one about vibrations." He walks out with me into the kitchen as I pour myself a cup of coffee. "If you just _believe_ Trey's wedding will go well, than it will." He says it with some kind of authority, like he totally believes it.

"But I _don't_ believe it'll go well," I grumble, hoping he'll just drop it. He sighs and shakes his head.

"I find your lack of faith disturbing."

"I hate you, Seth."

* * *

"I have to pee."

He lets out a frustrated sigh – _so_ exaggerated, like I'm the most annoying person in the world. Please, Seth totally trumps me in that department.

"Taylor, you had to pee like, twenty minutes ago," he doesn't take his eyes off the road; like he doesn't think I'm serious.

"Yeah, well, I had that giant slushie thing and now I have to go again."

"Can't you hold it? As it is, we're already late."

All right, so he's got me there. I kind of had a mini-crisis before we left – even though he swears losing my favorite pen isn't a 'crisis'. Whatever, it so is. I used that pen to translate my first set of French poems after college, which got me recognition from the company I work with now. Plus, it's the pen I used to use to write him from Paris. So that crisis ate up about a half an hour, and we've had to make about three pit-stops so far – twice for me to use the bathroom and once for the slushie. So we're about an hour late on a trip that takes almost nine hours anyway.

"Ryan," I whine, placing my hands over my stomach for emphasis, "I can't _hold it_. Did you know you can get an infection from holding it? Do you want me to get infected, Ryan? Because I could. And then what would happen to our baby? What if it becomes infected, too? What then, Ryan? What if our baby comes out deformed because of it, hm? Then you'll have to live for the rest of your life knowing that-"

"Alright," he grunts, jaw tight. "There's a rest stop in seven miles, if you think you can keep from getting infected till then."

"I love you," I grin at him and lean over to kiss his cheek as he mopes. Or tries to, anyway, because instead of coming off angry – like I think he's intending it – he just ends up looking like a child, denied a shiny new toy. I think the minute he left Newport, he forgot how to brood properly.

Not that I mind.

Because – as hot as brooding Ryan is – I'd rather him be happy, you know? Oh sure, the tortured bad-boy thing is a nice fantasy, but it definitely doesn't work when it comes to having an actual relationship. Which was why – even before we started dating – I always tried my best to get him to crack a smile. And I think I've been successful, thank you very much. I mean, I've even gotten him to laugh a couple times – and not just that _vague smile and release of air_ laugh, or his _we're in the middle of having sex and he's teasing the crap out of me _laugh, or even the _oh my God, I'm so uncomfortable, get me out of here now_ laugh. No, I've actually made him _laugh_ – out loud, uncontrollable _laughter_.

As long as I can still make him smile, I know we're good.

I start humming the _lets all go to the movies_ song and out of the corner of my eye, I see his lips quirk up.

* * *

"Hey, little bro," Trey grins and pulls me into a hug. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it," I lie, trying to smile back. Next to me, Taylor and Jess are being incredibly awkward, because they don't really know each other and there's still a weird Newport vibe when they get together. "I can't believe you're getting married." I try for conversation, because I know all too well how good we are at awkward silences.

"I know, right?" he sighs and leads me into the kitchen as Taylor and Jess sit on the couches in the living room. "I blame you."

"Me?" I ask, accepting the beer he hands me and ignoring the weird feeling in my gut that tells me Trey shouldn't have alcohol in his place.

"Yeah," Trey opens his own bottle and takes a mouthful before continuing. "After we got back from yours, Jess started getting all…"

"Hinty?" I ask, getting a quirked eyebrow for my attempt. Damn Taylor and Seth and their tendency to make up random words. They have me doing it now.

"Yeah. So she starts pointing out rings whenever we walk by jewelry shops and other shit like that."

"So… you're getting married because she pressured you?" I ask slowly, not wanting to say it, but needing to. The last thing Trey needs is to marry some girl and then feel trapped – especially when he apparently keeps his fridge loaded with beer.

"Nah," he shakes his head, eyes going toward his fiancée. "I woulda done it eventually, she just helped me along."

We stand in the kitchen and watch the girls talk about the wedding – which is, apparently, only a small service for family and close friends. But Taylor's getting all excited and now so is Jess – good God, I've never seen Jess actually _excited_ before. They seem to have forgotten all about their shared Harbor history – the social strata drama and the cold, polite smiles. No, now that they have a wedding to focus on, they're all sorts of friends.

"Oh my God," Trey mutters. "This sucks. Look at them."

"See, this is why you don't invite Taylor places," I shake my head at him as Taylor and Jess get up and go into the bedroom.

"Shit, the dress," he rolls his eyes.

From the bedroom, there's sounds of rustling fabric and then in a few minutes, giggles.

"_You look so amazing!"_ Taylor's voice drifts out.

"_You think so? Trey said I looked 'good' in it."_

"Fuck."

_"Good?" _Taylor gasps, sounding offended.

"Fuck," Trey repeats.

"Oh, man, have you learned _nothing_?" I shake my head and take another swig of beer as Trey starts to hit his head against a cabinet door.

* * *

"He didn't say mom and dad were coming," Ryan mutters, hands clenching as he rocks slowly back and forth. The movement's almost unnoticeable, but I see it and even my hand resting on his knee doesn't stop the jitters. "He should've said something."

"Ryan, it's his wedding, of course he'd want his parents there," I whisper, trying to reason with him.

"I know," he shoots back, a little angrily, but I don't take it personally.

"Look," I sigh and point toward the gate and we both stand up as Dawn and Ron come toward us.

"Ryan!" she cries and throws her arms around him. "I can't believe I get to see you again."

"Hey ma," he hugs her back. "Ron."

"Hey kid," the man grins and claps him on the back as Dawn beams.

"Now, Ryan, you're going to have to show me around, it's been years since I've been to Vegas."

"I _wish_ it'd been years for me," he mumbles under his breath. I roll my eyes as we start to walk out of the airport, to the car we rented.

"What?" Dawn asks, turning to smile at her son.

"Nothing," I cut in, taking my husband's arm and dragging him toward the car with a scolding look.

* * *

Watching Trey get married is like taking the _holy fuck_-ness from both Seth and my weddings and combining it together. Because really? This is fucking unbelievable.

Trey wasn't supposed to even _live_ to be thirty-one, let alone be getting married. It sounds horrible, but really, we both know it. I remember having a conversation with Theresa about it once – back before everything. She'd been talking about her future – how she wanted to go to the local community college after high school and I remember thinking, _not me_.

Not me and not Trey, either. I remember thinking how the only way we'd ever get out of Chino was by jail or death. I figured jail for me, death for Trey. He was always more reckless than I was; he always pissed more people off.

I blink a few times, then rub my eyes, but it all doesn't go away – Jess in her white dress, Trey in his tux, mom and dad sitting proudly in the pews, Taylor sitting next to me, her flat stomach concealing the baby inside. I keep feeling like it should all be a dream – like maybe I got shot or something back in Chino and all of this is a coma-induced hallucination.

And then I think, if I _was_ going to hallucinate a wife, why would I make her insane?

And not just that – why would I make up a Seth? Or a Julie? Or a Bullit?

"Trey looks terrified," Taylor whispers, leaning toward me slightly. I focus my eyes on my brother and… yeah. He looks like he's about to run away. Poor guy. Jess, on the other hand, looks determined and she's holding onto Trey's hand with what looks like a really painful grip.

He's so hooked.

* * *

"Atwood, man!" A large man walks toward us and I see Ryan's face go from confused to fearful to carefully composed.

"Turo," he greets warily as the other man – Turo? – grabs him up in a really painful looking hug.

"It's been forever," the man grins, patting Ryan forcefully on the back. "I haven't seen you since you were fuckin' fifteen."

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan nods, blinking slowly, like he's not quite sure this is happening. The other man finally notices me and smiles, nodding. "Oh," Ryan says slowly, blinking again. "Turo, this is Taylor. Taylor, Arturo Diaz. He's Theresa's brother."

"Theresa, like _Theresa_…" I trail off, shooting a look at Ryan and he nods. _That_ Theresa. "Oh. Nice to meet you," I smile, extending my hand to Arturo – which is just a much nicer name than calling him _Turo_. He seems slightly confused by the gesture, but finally shakes my hand.

"So you're little Atwood's girlfriend?" he gives Ryan a nod.

"Wife," I clarify, holding up my hand as proof.

"Shit. Go figure it'd be you getting married first," Arturo grins and claps Ryan on the shoulder again.

"How's Theresa?" I ask, since Ryan's basically completely stiff and non-verbal. "We haven't heard from her since prom."

"She's good – engaged, actually. Daniel's ten now."

"Ten," Ryan repeats, swallowing hard. "Wow."

"Yeah. She's actually out of Chino now – moved to Los Angeles with her fiancée a few years ago when she had his kid. Sarah's three now."

"Good for her," I smile, squeezing Ryan's hand – _look, everything turned out ok_. "So you knew Ryan from Chino?"

"Yeah," Arturo nods, not even noticing Ryan's awkwardness. "Trey and I were… business associates and Ryan'd tag along a lot. You know, when he wasn't too busy doing my sister."

"You already kicked my ass multiple times for that," Ryan shoots back, getting back in the game.

"Arturo Diaz, is that you?" Dawn's voice sounds from behind us and she comes over.

"Dawn," he greets warily, loosening up a bit when he notices she's not drunk. They start talking as Ryan starts to look a little green – apparently this is one too many trips down memory lane for him.

And because God hates us…

"Ryan, kiddo, I'm gonna head back to the hotel," Frank comes up to his son and grips his shoulder. "Oh, Dawn."

"Frank," she nods politely. Oh, yeah, _this_ is comfortable.

"You're Frank?" Arturo's eyebrows raise and he looks at Ryan for confirmation. Ryan nods imperceptibly and I watch the silent conversation between both of them: '_dude, seriously? The guy who used to hit you?' 'Yeah, he's apparently reformed.' 'Wow, that's heavy.' 'I know.'_

"And you are…"

"A friend of Trey and Ryan's from Chino," Arturo challenges, turning to face Frank. I exchange a look with – of all people – Dawn. There's just a little too much testosterone here – too much _tense_ testosterone.

"You weren't at Ryan's wedding," Frank challenges back. Good God, someone needs to tell them all to calm the hell down, otherwise this is going to end in a fistfight – giving Ryan _another_ reason to feel guilty and hate Vegas.

"I didn't think to invite anyone from back home," Ryan shrugs apologetically, making Frank and me flinch simultaneously – and probably for almost the same reason. Because Ryan called _Chino_ 'back home'. It just feels wrong – 'back home' should imply Newport. And I know Frank thinks 'back home' should mean Fresno – with him.

"Yeah, I don't think I would've fit in there anyway," Arturo relaxes enough to shoot Ryan a grin and nod in my direction. "I still can't believe you're married."

"I know, my babies are all grown up," Dawn jumps in, obviously changing the subject to avoid the whole punch-throwing, manly-pride showdown. "Married…"

"Yeah, and expecting," Frank tries to join in, completely missing the look Ryan gives him.

"What?" Dawn gasps, looking at me.

"Shit," Ryan mumbles.

* * *

"Arturo was nice," Taylor hums happily as we ride the elevator up. "And his stories about you were so cute!"

I roll my eyes and try to ignore her smile as she beams up at me adoringly. Seeing Arturo was… unexpected – to say the least. I honestly never thought I'd see the guy again; not since leaving Chino for good, back when I left Theresa. And that's another thing – Theresa has _another_ kid and she's engaged? Jesus. At least she's got a life now; takes some of the guilt off of me.

Shit, the look on Turo's face had been fucking… Jesus Christ. And then Frank letting it slip that Taylor's pregnant and everyone freaking out and asking us all those questions.

"Hey, what did he mean by 'business associates?" Her voice startles me out of my brood and I start to grin as she pouts. "What? _Ryan_," she whines, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring.

"Trey and Turo used to… sell car parts," I grin, letting my hand drift to the small of her back as I guide her to our hotel room. Her nose scrunches up in confusion as she looks up at me, but I keep my eyes ahead.

"They sold car parts? Like…"

"We should call Sandy and Kirsten and let them know we're coming back tomorrow."

"Like _stolen_ car parts?" She doesn't take the bait – she never does – and her eyes widen as she looks over her shoulder toward the door – like Trey and Turo will be standing there. "And you used to tag along?"

"Taylor, I got arrested stealing a car. This suprises you?"

"No, I guess not." She sighs when we get into our room and throws her little purse onto the bedside table. "It's just, I forget sometimes, you know? That you used to be different."

I'm not quite sure what the hell _different'_s supposed to mean and I can't really tell from the tone of her voice either. So instead, I settle for "oh."

She turns to face me, hands lifted to her ear to remove her earring. "I did see you, you know; back in high school. You can't pretend like you're not different." I stare at her until she sighs, dropping her jewelry on the dresser. "Remember the kickoff carnival in twelfth?" She waits for me to nod before continuing. "Tell me, if some authority figure pissed you off right now, would you hit him?" There's a pause and she sighs again and moves forward slowly, wrapping her arms around my neck. "_I_ don't think you would. Even if he was an awful person and even if he deserved it."

"I dunno," I murmur back, dropping my lips to the top of her head. "I can't ever tell when I'll get angry…"

"You wouldn't," she repeats, voice absolutely sure. "You haven't hit anyone in ages." I laugh lightly into her hair before pulling back.

"You make it sound like I'm really nonthreatening," I protest.

"Well…" she smiles, teasing.

"Oh, I can be threatening."

"I'm sure you can, sweetie," her smile gets wider.

"I'm dangerous," I mutter sullenly, which only seems to make her giggle. "I am."

"I know, baby," she soothes. "I know."

"You want me to prove it? I'll pound on someone if you want."

She rolls her eyes and drops her arms from my neck, muttering something about _men_. Whatever, I could so still beat the shit out of someone if I wanted.

I could.

_

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_

review


	4. Month 4

_Hey, so... here I am, procrastinating doing homework... again... I'm seriously considering dropping out and joining the circus or something. That sounds fun._

_Enjoy!_

_Music: the ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in? in your head, in your mouth, in your soul_

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Month Four: November

"It's beautiful, Ryan," I murmur as we stand outside our new house. And it is – beautiful – even if it's not completely finished. Apparently, before we went on our honeymoon, Ryan put in the paperwork to get it started and – since he's in the business – things have progressed quickly. So now, a little over five months later, here it is. There's still some landscaping to be done and the basement needs to be finished, but…

I own a house. With Ryan.

And I'm pregnant.

Holy shit.

When did I grow up? I don't think I'm responsible enough for this: a house, a husband, a family. It feels like yesterday I was floating through life, dropped out of college and clinging on to any random guy that happened to show any kindness to me. Although, that process landed me Ryan, so I guess I should be thankful.

"You really like it?" he rubs the back of his neck nervously. "I mean, really?"

"Yeah, really," I turn to him and smile. "Can we see the inside?"

He nods and starts walking up to the front door. As we walk, the various leftover workers greet him and he chats with a few of them, which takes me by surprise. I've gone to visit Ryan at work, but I've never seen him _working_. Is this what he's like? He actually _talks_ to people?

Go figure.

A couple of the men nod and smile at me, shooting looks at Ryan that I totally catch, but I can't decide whether they're '_nice job bagging that'_ or '_you're totally right, she looks insane_'. Whatever.

We step inside and…

"It's _huge_," I whisper, looking around and trying to take it all in. Dark, hardwood floors like I love, the molding I picked out, huge windows, all like he promised.

"It's not that big," he shrugs and I know he's right – it just _looks_ a lot bigger than it is because it's not furnished. "I left the walls and stuff white," he explains, gesturing at the lack of color. "You know, cause I figured you'd want to…"

"Control it?" I finish for him and he gives me a small smile. "Thank you."

"Less work for me," he shrugs. "Wanna see the kitchen?"

"Yes please."

* * *

I grunt a little as I lift the end of the couch and push it through the window. Sandy's inside, pulling the other end. We make a pretty good team, because we get it in without any problems.

"Good job, team!" Seth pumps his fist in the air, like he helped or something. Apparently he's 'supervising'. Which is total bullshit, because that's the girls' jobs.

Taylor had _better_ be supervising.

I look around to find her and… alright, she's directing Justin to take the mattress upstairs. Ever since we started moving in, she keeps insisting she can help and I keep having to remind her that she's pregnant and there's no way I'm letting her do any manual labor with my baby in there. Summer's supervising, too, because she has Nicole. She keeps giving me dirty looks, probably because she thinks I'm being sexist or something. Truth is, she'd be more helpful than her husband is and I'd rather have _her_ doing work and _Seth_ watching Nicole, but it's only been a couple months since she had her kid and she's really attached. She can't go for more than a couple hours being away from her daughter and I'd rather not have a meltdown while we're working.

Plus, she and Taylor are _really_ good at motivating the troops. And by _motivating_ I mean _scaring the shit out of_. The guys I recruited from work are moving as fast as they can, trying to avoid the _looks_ from Taylor and Summer – both still pissed at me for not letting them do anything.

"Ryan." I turn to look at Matthew – here with Julie and dad.

"Hey, Matt," I clap him on the shoulder as I watch Seth struggle with a chair.

A fucking _chair_.

"Taylor sent me over to help you," he looks up at me with a wide grin and I flick my eyes over to Taylor. She smiles at me too, waving her hands – _go on_.

She knows I still feel a little weird around Matthew. It's been eight years, but still, it's weird. Seth's my brother and Sophie's my sister and I'm perfectly ok with them. But Matthew… he's not just my brother – he's my brother who's an _Atwood_. I guess it doesn't help that I don't get to see him as much as I do Seth and Sophie – Julie and dad live close, but I don't go over their house as often as I do the Cohens.

I think the part that weirds me out the most is that he looks _exactly_ like Trey did. You'd think with Julie's genes in there, he wouldn't, but Julie's nowhere to be found. In fact, if she hadn't birthed the kid, I'd think he was mom and dad's kid.

Although that's not true – Julie's not in there _physically_. Personality-wise, Matthew's about as far from the typical Atwood as you can get. Outside he's an Atwood, inside he's a Cooper – loud, demanding, stubborn, sneaky, manipulative.

And, as Taylor puts it, he '_totally adores_' me. Dad says I'm Matthew's hero, which freaks me out, too.

"Alright," I take a deep breath and look around for something an eight-year-old can help me with. "Why don't we grab the cushions and pillows and set up the couch?" He nods eagerly and runs off to the moving truck, shouting at me to follow.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Taylor watching us, hand on her stomach.

* * *

When we're finally alone – after we finally get rid of an _on the verge of crying_ Kirsten and _proudly grinning_ Sandy – I stand in our foyer and sigh. Ryan shuts the door as the Cohens pull away and turns to me and Cody.

"So…" he starts. "How about we order some pizza?"

"Thank God," Cody mutters, looking exhausted. Despite my continual protests, he's done way too much this past week, what with moving in and going to school and soccer practice. "I'm gonna go set up my computer," he tells us and runs up the stairs to his room.

I trail Ryan into the kitchen and lean against the counter as he orders the food and when he finally puts down the phone, he turns to me. "What?"

"Nothing," I grin, still watching him as he narrows his eyes at me.

"Uh huh," he mutters, moving around the counter and putting the menu back in our menu basket. Yes, we have a menu basket. Apparently I've turned into Kirsten.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" I keep smiling as I wrap my arms around his waist.

"Uh, yeah. A lot," he follows suit and his arms loop around me. "What brought this on?"

"Ryan, you designed and built me a house," I remind him.

"Right," he grins back, bending down to kiss me.

I think I'm gonna like our new house.

* * *

"Hey, what's wrong?"

I find Cody in the kitchen when I get home from work, looking nervous. He ducks his head, but not before I catch the look he shoots at the stairwell.

"I think something's wrong with Taylor…" he mumbles to the floor, twisting the cap of the water bottle in his hands idly. He doesn't sound really panicked, but that doesn't stop the way my stomach drops, the way my heart starts beating erratically.

"What do you mean 'wrong'?" I make myself say calmly, breathing rhythmically to slow my heart rate. "Is she sick?"

Oh _shit_.

"Is the baby ok?"

I don't give him time to answer, instead turning and running to the stairs, taking them two at a time. By the time I've reached the landing, I feel like I can't breathe – my tie's too tight, the blood's pounding in my ears.

Shit.

"Taylor?" I pause at the landing, trying to hear through the throbbing in my head. There it is – a small noise, coming from the master bath. She's standing in the middle of the room, staring at the full body mirror, crying. "Jesus, Taylor, what's wrong?" The fog starts to lift from my brain when I don't see any blood. She turns to me, eyes red and puffy from crying, but when she sees me, they harden in anger.

"You," she hisses, pointing. Me? What? "You did this to me," she accuses, voice breaking and she starts to cry again.

"I didn't do anything!" I protest. I've been at work all day, what the hell could I have done from there?

"Yes, you did," she shoots back, turning to the mirror again, hands drifting to the waist of her jeans – which I notice are unbuttoned and unzippered. "You and your stupid sperm."

All the tension drains, leaving me spent and tired. I put my hand to my head and come further into the bathroom. "Taylor…"

"Don't touch me," she warns, backing away and holding up her hands.

"You're mad at me cause I got you pregnant?" I ask, even though it's not what I really want to say. I'd rather say something like _are you fucking kidding me?_

"Because you made me fat!" she wails, shoulders slumping as she points to her jeans.

I let out a sigh and move forward, and this time, she doesn't back away. She lets me wrap my arms around her as she starts to cry again. In the back of my head, I hope she's not wearing makeup, because that shit's a bitch to get out of clothes. I remember all those times I had to try and scrub her lipstick out of my boxers before Kirsten saw it.

"You're not fat," I try to reassure her, smoothing my hand over her back as she sobs. This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say, because she puts her hands on my chest and pushes – hard – so I stumble back a step.

"Don't lie to me," she warns. "I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were," my voice rises a little. She ignores that and turns back to the mirror, lifting up the front of her shirt to stare at her stomach. It's barely recognizable, but I guess her pants won't close anymore. Hence the breakdown. "Taylor, you can't do this every time something doesn't fit…"

"Who said they don't fit?" she whirls on me, anger flashing. Shit.

"Do they?" I gesture at her pants with an expression of _if they do, then why are you freaking the hell out_?

"No," she pouts.

"Do you want me to leave you alone so you can cry some more?"

"Yes, please."

* * *

"...so then I sat in the bathroom for another three hours and tried to close them before giving up and putting on sweatpants," I sigh as we walk through the mall.

"Wow, I was right," Kaitlin mutters, sipping her frappuccino.

"About what?" I frown at the girl, swirling my own frappuccino around in its plastic cup.

"Well, I bet Justin that you'd get crazier now that you're pregnant. He owes me twenty bucks."

"Kaitlin, you bet on your friend's sanity?" Summer tries to scold, but she's smiling, pushing Nicole in her stroller.

"Yup," the girl shrugs. Except maybe I shouldn't call her 'girl' anymore. She's graduated from college now and has a job at a high-end fashion magazine, editing articles. Which is awesome, because sometimes she gets free tickets, so Summer and I get in free to a lot of the exclusive fashion shows.

"Well, I'm glad _someone's_ getting something out of me getting fat," I mutter, glaring at my calorie-loaded drink. If it weren't so delicious, I swear I'd throw it away.

"You're not getting fat," Summer sighs. "Remember what I looked like?"

"Yeah, you looked _awesome_," I remind her, glaring at her now-flat stomach. She bounced right back to pre-pregnancy form in no time.

"Whatever," she waves me off, looking down at her daughter. "I hope you have a girl. Then she and Nicole can grow up together and be best friends."

I gasp in excitement, stopping in the middle of the mall and turning to her. "That would be _so cool_!" I squeal, making a bunch of other shoppers turn and look at me. Kaitlin grabs my arm and makes me walk again, obviously embarrassed about my behavior. "Oh my God, they could go to school together!"

"That's true," she nods, doing the math. "Your kid'll only be, what? ten months younger than Nicole?"

"Yeah. That means they'll be in the same grade!" I squeal again and Kaitlin covers her face with her hand, like that makes her invisible.

"You guys are so embarrassing," she mumbles, walking faster to get ahead of us.

* * *

"So," Kirsten smiles and leans against the kitchen counter next to me in the Berkeley house. "Next year there'll be another seat filled."

"I know," I murmur, staring out at the dining room table – set with sixteen place-settings. Next year there'll be seventeen, because of the baby.

"Thanksgiving's getting crowded," she sighs, but continues smiling because she's Kirsten, and she really doesn't care.

"Oh, you like your open-door policy," I tease, ducking my head over a smile when she smacks me on the arm.

"How are you?" she asks quietly, watching Sophie and Matthew play in the living room as the adults stand around and talk – or, in Sandy, Bullit, and dad's case, _sit_ around and talk. "I talk to Taylor all the time about the pregnancy, but you've never really told me how _you're _handling it."

"Well, aside from the fact that it'll have my genes, I think I'm doing ok." She sighs, but doesn't address my paranoia – not that my kid will end up like me, but that he'll end up like dad or Trey. And I mean dad or Trey _before_ they 'reformed'.

Honestly, I'm still waiting for the day when dad gets drunk and starts hitting Julie and Matthew. It sucks, but sometimes I wake up at night, heart racing, drenched in sweat because I just had one of the nightmares. I've never told Taylor about them, but I think after four years of sleeping in the same bed as me every night, she knows. She doesn't say anything, though, when I do that – which I'm thankful for, cause it bothers me more than I'd like and I'd rather be able to pretend like she _doesn't_ know I still have nightmares about the father that used to hit me.

"You sure you're ok?" Kirsten asks, looking at me now with concern. I swallow hard and nod.

If I keep repeating it in my head, it'll come true.

_I will never hit my child, I will never hit my child, I will never hit my child..._

* * *

A sudden movement jolts me awake and I open my eyes to complete darkness. Thanksgiving dinner's made me really sleepy, so it takes a while for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but when they do, I notice Ryan sitting up next to me, knees drawn up to his chest, head in his hands.

"Ryan?" I sit up and put my hand on his arm and he flinches away from me.

"Don't touch me," he rasps, and it's then that I notice he's shaking slightly, skin damp and cold. "Just…"

"Ryan, honey," I sit up on my knees, facing him and put my hand more firmly on his arm, so he can't shake me off. "What's wrong?"

I wonder if it's another one of his nightmares. He doesn't talk about them, but sometimes he wakes up at night for no reason. At first I didn't think anything of it, but after a while I started to notice that he'd go completely stiff and stare up at the ceiling, breathing raggedly. Sometimes I wonder what it is that haunts him. It started happening more often right after Trey showed up for our wedding, so I'm assuming the nightmares have something to do with Frank and their childhood.

I never say anything, though. Ryan has this weird pride, like he wants me to think he's some sort of superhero that isn't ever afraid or something.

"Promise me," he finally looks over at me after a long silence.

"Promise what?" I goad when he doesn't continue. Faint moonlight makes his eyes glint in the dark – intense and fearful and I try to shift closer to him, but he retreats.

"Promise me," he repeats, "you'll leave me. If I ever… just promise you won't put up with it."

"Honey," I say as gently as I can, reaching out to touch his cheek, but he still flinches away. "You're not making any sense."

"Don't stay around and let me… just… promise me you'll leave if I do."

Obviously whatever his dream was about has made him completely useless, so I sit back and watch him, racking my brain for scenarios.

After a few minutes of silence, I think I've figured it out, and I sigh in slight annoyance.

"Ryan," I make my tone firm and he looks at me. "You're not going to hit me _or_ our kid."

"How do you know?" he shoots back. "Dad didn't start until we were… until I was three. He never hit mom before that. How do you know?"

"Because I know you," I shrug, like it's obvious. "You would never…"

"You don't know that," he interrupts, shaking his head. "Promise me."

"Ryan…"

"Taylor, promise me. If I… if I end up like him, promise me you won't stick around. Don't… don't do that to her… him…" his eyes to go my stomach. "Promise me."

"I promise," I whisper, feeling my throat close up a bit. I don't _want_ to promise – I don't need to.

But I think Ryan needs me to.

I'm right, because he immediately relaxes, lying back down, but not meeting my eye. I lay down with him and drape my arm across him and twine my legs through his. He stiffens a bit but doesn't try to get away. He needs to know I still love him – I still trust him, even if he doesn't trust himself.

"I can't promise I'll be a good father," he murmurs into my hair, arm hesitantly wrapping around me. I don't tell him he doesn't have to promise. We've already been over this – I already know he'll be amazing.

I shut my eyes and try to fall back asleep – despite the fact that he's still tense next to me. Maybe if I fall asleep, it'll calm him down enough so he can too.

That plan flies out the window as my eyes open wide. Ryan notices and turns to me. "What?"

"Ryan!" I whisper excitedly, flipping over onto my back and grabbing his hand. "Feel!" I pull up my pajama top and place his hand flat on my stomach.

"Taylor, what?"

"Sh!" I quiet him, pressing his hand harder to my stomach. Come on…

"Jesus!" he sits bolt upright and turns to face me better. I grin at him through the dark as his eyes go wide and he stares at the slight bulge in my stomach. "Did it just…?"

"Kick?" I finish for him, nodding. "See?" I take his hand and place it on my stomach again and we both wait in breathless silence until it shifts again.

"God, Taylor," he looks up into my eyes and smiles. I giggle and sit up and his hand never moves from my stomach.

"See?" I say breathlessly, placing my hands on top of his. "The baby thinks you'll be great." He shakes his head slowly, eyes traveling back down to my stomach and our joined hands.

"It's really in there," he mumbles, still looking a little shell-shocked. I start to giggle – of _course_ it's in there. I mean, it's only been dictating my eating, sleeping, peeing and vomiting schedule for _four months_. Not that he gets any of that. I'm barely showing and he's usually at work when I'm bent over the toilet. "You're amazing, Taylor," he shakes his head again.

"I like to think so." I lay back down, forcing him to follow if he wants to keep his hand on my stomach.

"It's not moving anymore," he frowns, shifting his hand slightly, like he's trying to see if the kicking's moved to another part of my stomach.

"Because it knows its daddy has to get some sleep, or he'll be cranky in the morning," I remind him.

"I don't get cranky," he protests grumpily, pulling his hand away.

"But I do," I curl up into him again and close my eyes. This time he's not stiff and he pulls me in close as I drift off to sleep.

_

* * *

_

review


	5. Month 5

_Alright, this chapter goes kind of long, but that's what I get for doing an entire month in one. I hope you all enjoy the non-angst of this chapter!_

_Music: hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name?_

**

* * *

**

Month Five: December

"So if you don't want to know, tell me now," Dr. Pierce warns, pausing in the middle of my ultrasound.

"We want to know," I tell him and he nods.

"Alright."

* * *

I drive to the Cohens in a sort of trance, taking all the appropriate turns, stopping at all the appropriate lights. In the passenger's seat, Taylor clutches the ultrasound picture in one hand and keeps the other on her stomach as she grins and stares out the window. I park behind Seth's mini-van and we get out and my heart starts to pump faster as we approach the house.

Seth's apparently already been by here with some of his boxes of excess Chrismukkah decorations, because there's already icicle lights hung off the roof and reindeer with yamacas in the front lawn.

In the living room, everyone's waiting for us – for the 'big news' Taylor told them we had.

"So?" Kirsten asks, on the edge of the sofa and I think she knows. Summer seems to know, too, which doesn't surprise me. She just went through this. Although, so did Seth, but he's always been extra clueless.

"We called you guys here," Taylor addresses everyone – Cohens, Atwoods, Coopers, Bullits – hands clasped in front of her, grin still in place. "Because we just got back from the doctor's, and…." She elongates it until Kaitlin huffs impatiently. "It's a boy!"

"Congratulations!" Sandy roars, the first one to move, and he comes over and hugs Taylor as tightly as he dares before coming over and clapping me on the shoulder – harder than he probably meant to. I give him a weak smile and he throws an arm around me, still grinning proudly.

"A boy?" Kirsten whispers delightedly and stands, going over to Taylor. "Now I have one of each," she smiles, tears brimming as she hugs my wife.

"Hey, congrats man," Seth pulls me into a hug and Sandy manages to keep his arm around me. I just nod and then dad and Bullit are here, telling me how proud I must be, how great it is I'm having a son, how I'll get to teach him how to play sports.

The room starts to spin a little and I look over at Taylor to ground me. A smile seems permanently etched on her face and she sniffles as Kirsten, Summer, Julie, Kaitlin, and Katie all fawn over her, touching her stomach like it's new.

Like it's real.

Fuck, it's actually _real_ now.

I'm having a son.

* * *

Ryan's been a little dazed since we found out, and I _would _be worried, but every now and then the corners of his mouth curl up into a smile, so I know he's ok. He's just being Ryan and handling it his own way, so I let him.

I have a lot to think about now, too. It's a boy, which means I'm going to have even _more_ testosterone in the house. Summer and I kept talking about me having a girl, so I think somewhere in my head, it stuck. So when the doctor announced it was male, I thought he made a mistake. But no, he'd shown us the results and sure enough, XY.

It's just weird – I thought it was going to be a girl.

I close my eyes and try to imagine him – our little baby _him_. I hope he has blonde hair and blue eyes, just like Ryan. Bright blue eyes that'll light up my world, just like Ryan's do. I open my eyes and look over at him as he drives back to our house and he turns to smile at me before looking back out at the road.

"Ryan?" I hum softly, looking out the window at the dark street, lit by already-hung Christmas lights.

"Yeah?" he asks, keeping his voice just as soft as mine was. Maybe the dark and the Christmas lights and the news are making it feel magical, but it's like neither of us wants to break the peace in the car.

"Can we stop at In-and-Out Burger?"

Well, so much for not ruining the 'magic'.

* * *

We stand in what will be the baby's room, but right now is just an empty space with white walls. Taylor went and picked up about a million and a half paint chips in every conceivable color and lined them up on a card table. She's even organized them into color categories – reds, oranges, yellows, greens, blues, purples, neutrals – and separated them on either the right or left sides of the table – right for '_maybe'_ and left for '_good Lord in heaven, no'_. I already told her I'm ruling out anything in orange and purple. No way in hell is my son having an orange or purple room. I tried to get rid of pink, too, but she said I can only do that if I rule out the entire 'red' family altogether, so pink is still on the 'maybe' side.

It's taunting me.

"Alright," she sighs, staring at the blank wall. "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue," I respond automatically. Truth is, I'm not sure I have a _favorite_ color, but blue is soothing and masculine. My son will not be Seth.

I bet Seth had a purple room growing up.

"I like blue," she nods, but frowns. "But isn't that just a little too traditionally 'boy'? I feel like we should branch out and try another color."

"Not pink."

She sighs in annoyance and shoots a glare at me before turning to the paint chip table. "How about green?" She picks up a paint chip that has got to be the most hideous color of green I've ever been witness to.

"Not that one," I take it out of her hand and toss it onto the 'no' side. She frowns, picks it up out of the oranges and places it back with the greens.

"Do you even _want_ green?" she asks, like I'm trying to be difficult.

"I want blue," I shrug. She sighs.

"Why don't we eliminate some other colors?" she suggests, like that will solve the _green versus blue_ problem.

"Yellow," I vote. It's too bright and grating – like orange. She nods and shifts the yellow pile over to the left side of the table.

"Alright, I vote out neutral. Too boring." I nod in agreement and all the browns and off-whites move left. "And I don't want red," she bites her lip, hands moving to shift red over.

"Fine with me." With red goes pink, so I'm good.

"Red is an aggressive color," she continues. "And if he has your temper, red is the _last_ color he needs."

"Oh, ha ha," I fold my arms over my chest and glare at the two remaining piles: blue and green.

"Now what?" she asks, hands hovering over the blue, like she wants to shift them over to 'no'.

"Well," I start to smile. "You voted out two and I only voted out one."

"Not true," she shakes her head and points to orange and purple. Damn it. "You voted three and I voted two. So I get another…"

"Damn it," I mutter, glaring at that damn green paint chip she picked up before. I may never come in here, if it's that color.

Her hand reaches out and she shifts the green pile over to the 'no' side, leaving the pile of blue all alone in 'maybe'.

"I thought you wanted green?"

She shrugs. "Blue's not so bad," she murmurs, then looks up at me. "And if you want it…"

I kiss her _thank you_ and she smiles.

* * *

"Have you picked out a name yet?" Summer asks as she walks back to the couch and places the baby monitor on the side table. "Now that you know the sex?"

"No," Ryan shrugs.

"How about _Seth_?" Seth suggests with a grin. "Good, strong name."

Ryan snorts and rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything.

"How about Jacques?" I suggest, looking over at Ryan. He quirks an eyebrow.

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious," I frown, putting my hand on my stomach to protect the baby's ears.

"Jacques," Ryan repeats. "You want our kid to be named Jacques?"

"What's wrong with Jacques?"

"Nothing, if you're ok with him getting beat up every day of his life," Ryan deadpans back. Seth and Summer watch with growing interest as I sit forward on the couch angrily.

"It's French!" I protest.

"We're not _in_ France."

"Fine, if you're so invested in having a non-French name, _you_ come up with one."

He sits for a while and stays silent and I watch the ideas flicker behind his eyes. "David," he says finally, blinking slowly before turning to me.

"Like David Beckham?" Summer asks.

"Well, if he's gonna play soccer," Seth reasons with a grin.

"Never mind," Ryan grumbles, pouting.

"No," I protest, voice low. "I like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. _David_." I test out the name and the baby shifts so I figure he likes it, too.

"And hey," Ryan shoots Seth and Summer a glare, "at least I don't wanna name my kid after a videogame character or that girl from that show…"

"Hey! Leave Nicole and future Paige out of this," Seth gasps, offended.

"Cohen, you named Nicole after a videogame character? What is she, some skanky chick that runs around in her underwear?" Summer's eyes darken and I think we can all sense the rage blackout ahead. Luckily Ryan steps in, once again, to save his brother's ass.

"Actually, she's from _Dead or Alive_. She wears complete armor and shoots people…"

"Oh," Summer's rage switches off and she sits back, placated.

"You can't be mad at me," Seth whines. "I let you pick the name of our next kid, if we have another girl. _And_ I let you name her after that stupid show."

"_Charmed_ is _not_ a stupid show," Summer glares.

"Fine, but if we have a _third_ kid and it's another girl, I get to name her. And I'm naming her Lara, middle name Croft, just to spite you."

"I hate you, Cohen."

"I love you, too, Summer."

* * *

"I love it," Taylor sighs at the newly painted room – bright blue that, apparently, matches my eyes.

She really creeps me out sometimes.

"I like it, too," I agree. It's nice and soothing and masculine.

"Now we just need a border," she gestures down at the little book of sample borders. I don't get it – I kind of like just the white trim, but she's insisting on a wallpaper border. She flips through the book, filled with sickeningly cute puppies and sailboats. "Aw, Ryan," she coos at a fuzzy bear family border.

"Seriously?" I ask and she looks up at me with wide eyes. Apparently she _is_ serious. I roll my eyes and try to get her off that track, so I point to the next page.

"How about that?"

"Clowns_?_" she recoils a bit. "You want to put _clowns_ in our child's room?"

"What's wrong with clowns?" I ask – not because I particularly _want_ clowns, but she seems to really _not_.

"Clowns are evil!"

"Clowns aren't evil. Kids love clowns," I frown at her and look back at the border. It's not scary…

"You know who else loved clowns? John Wayne Gacy."

"You have a problem," I tell her, flipping through the pages. We continue in silence, neither of us picking anything out.

"How about that?" she asks eventually, stopping me from flipping to the next-to-last page.

"Ducks?" I look down at the yellow and blue duck border. She nods and looks at me for my opinion. "I like ducks," I agree and she smiles up at me.

* * *

I let Ryan and Seth handle explaining what Chrismukkah is to Cody and follow Summer through to the living room and the giant tree.

"Look at it," she sighs proudly, hands on her hips.

"It's very pretty, Summer," I resist the urge to roll my eyes – she gets _way_ too into picking out Christmas trees. "Hey, what should I get Seth? Ryan already has his present, but I figure I shouldn't just go and jump in on his now that we're married."

"Well, he's been hinting that he wants this weird anime thing, but I refuse to buy him anything geeky now that he has a child. So you could get him that."

"Well, what is it?" I follow her as we go in to check on Nicole – decked out in a reindeer onesie and matching red bow. The saddest thing about the outfit? Seth picked it out.

"I don't know, it's Japanese and it has blood on the front of it. I didn't really pay attention."

I sigh and blow the bangs out of my face. Great.

* * *

"So whatd'ya get me?" Seth grins as we walk through the mall, searching for presents. I'm doing my usual last-minute shopping – three days before Chrismukkah – and it's packed, noisy, hot, and Seth is starting to piss me off with his incessant questions.

"Underwear," I mutter, hoping that gets him to shut up.

"No you didn't," he accuses, like I actually meant to be serious.

"Fine, I bought you a boat."

"Really?"

"No."

"Man, I forgot you turn into the Grinch this time of year."

"I'm not the Grinch," I argue, glaring. He sighs loudly and shakes his head, pushing me into a comic book store to '_get Taylor a present'_.

"You so are," he tries again, picking up some anime title that has way too much blood on the cover. "Just not green and you don't have a dog. But all the symptoms are there: grouchiness, resistance to singing carols, dressing up like Santa and sneaking into little children's bedrooms…"

"I don't do that," I explain to an old lady who turns to look at me in horror. "I don't." She turns around and moves away from us as Seth laughs and I hit him until he stops. "You're gonna get me arrested some day," I growl. "Oh, no, wait, you already did that."

"Totally not my fault. Now, I'm gonna get this for Taylor and then you need to figure out what I should get Cody. Did you already get him something?"

"Yeah," I shrug. Taylor and I actually got him a bunch of presents – we kind of went overboard.

"I can just see you being all proud-papa when he opens them," Seth grins as he pays for the DVD. The cashier – who's totally hot, by the way and therefore has no reason to be working in a comic book store – hands him his bag and we head out of the store. "You know, I bet your heart will grow three sizes that day…"

He yelps as I accidentally trip him and send him hurdling into a trashcan.

* * *

Cody stands in front of the tree – frozen.

"You didn't have to do this," he whispers hoarsely, eyes wide and focused on the pile of presents in front of him. "It's too much…"

"Don't be silly," I wave my hands at him and move to sit on the couch. Ryan moves forward and rests his hand on Cody's shoulder, giving it a squeeze, before joining me on the couch. "Open them!"

"But…"

"You might as well," Ryan cuts in, keeping his voice low and soothing. He's so good with Cody. "It's not like they're getting returned, and it'd be kind of a waste for them to sit under the tree in wrapping paper forever."

We watch as Cody slowly sinks to his knees and picks up the first present. Ryan slides his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him as I raise my hand to touch the necklace he'd given me last night.

It's kind of weird, but our tradition is to exchange gifts on Chrismukkah Eve. I think it started because of Ryan's holiday phobia – he claims things always go wrong on holidays, so he always gives me my presents the night before.

I've picked up the habit, too, so I gave him his present – a watch, because he broke his old one a month ago on a job site. It had seemed like a really good present at the time, until I'd opened the black box he got me and found the _gorgeous_ diamond necklace inside. He never gets me jewelry – I didn't think he even knew if I wore it or not – so it was a total surprise and I barely suppressed the urge to burst into tears.

Barely.

Needless to say, he didn't get his normal holiday-themed sex – the red and white lingerie with the little bells on it – because I'm feeling just a tad too fat and gross to have sex right now, but he _did_ get a complimentary blowjob for the gift. Plus, he got a _get out of jail free_ card, too. You know, something he can use to get out of trouble when I flip out at him, which seems to happen more and more frequently the fatter I get. So he gets a free pass to use whenever, and I have to completely drop whatever it is I'm pissed about.

I'm pretty sure I'll regret that later – you know, when I'm actually angry – but he seemed to really appreciate it. Or that may have been the orgasm, I couldn't tell.

"How many baby gifts do you think we'll get today?" he murmurs into my hair as we watch Cody open each present – carefully, cautiously, like they're going to disappear any second if he handles them too roughly.

"Hopefully none," I smile. "That's what the baby shower's for. Chrismukkah is all about me."

"Really?" he grins, laughing a little.

"And you," I add as an afterthought, which makes him laugh more.

"Oh," Cody looks up from the floor. "Um… I got you guys something…"

"You didn't have to," Ryan protests, showing that he is – in fact – exactly like the thirteen-year-old on the floor. Screw that.

"Yay! More presents," I grin and hold out my hands, which makes Cody smile and duck his head.

"It's nothing big," he shrugs, voice so low I can barely hear it as he pulls two presents out from the back of the tree that I hadn't even noticed. He hands the bigger one to Ryan and a book-shaped one to me.

"I don't care, gimme."

Ryan shakes his head at me and Cody blushes furiously. I barely notice Ryan starting to open his present as I tear the paper off mine. I stare at the journal inside, beautiful bound leather, the Eiffel Tower outlined on the front.

"Um," Cody shrugs again and lifts his hand to rub the back of his neck. "Ryan was telling me you were running out of room in your old one and I know you like France and stuff…" He trails off when I say nothing, obviously thinking I don't like it.

Except I so do. And it's not the journal itself that I love – even though it is pretty . I've had better ones, more expensive, higher class. But this one… Cody spent his own money and picked it out for me and I feel the lump rise in my throat and my eyes fill with tears and before I know it, I'm crying hysterically.

"What did you do?" Ryan asks, confused, as he looks at Cody. Cody's eyes are wide with absolute _fear_ as he answers.

"I don't know, I just gave her the gift and she started…" he gestures toward me.

"Taylor, stop crying," Ryan's voice is a little panicky, but I barely notice it through the sound of my own crying. "Taylor, what the hell is wrong?"

I try to explain all the reasons why I'm crying, and even though I'm listing them all nice and properly in my head, they kind of come out as a high-pitched squeak and I can tell Ryan and Cody can't understand me at all.

Ryan sighs tiredly.

"I think the supersonic noise means she likes it," he explains to Cody and I nod in agreement.

"Oh," he breathes, obviously relieved and still a little unsure.

So – of course – I do the first thing that comes to mind and throw my arms around him and try to squeeze the life out of him.

* * *

"Oh my God," I groan, spitting out the contents of my mouth into a napkin. "That tastes like evil."

Next to me, Kirsten laughs softly and Sandy grins.

"Seth was trying something new this year," he explains. "I think it's a cross between a latke and fruitcake."

"It's _horrible_," I throw the napkin in the trash and down a mouthful of water to rinse out the leftovers.

"I know," Kirsten smiles.

"You knew?" I accuse, glaring. "You knew it tasted like that and you didn't stop me?"

She gives me an innocent look and moves off to where Sophie, Matthew and Cody are playing with Matthew's new soccer ball near the good china. That had creeped me out a bit, when Matthew got the soccer ball. Especially because when he opened it, dad had looked at me and _smiled_, like it should bring up good memories for me.

It didn't.

I got a soccer ball for my sixth birthday, and then I got the shit beat out of me later that night for spilling orange juice on the kitchen floor. But dad seems to have conveniently forgotten that part of it – probably because he'd been drunk as hell at the time.

But I push that anger away and focus on how happy Julie is, how Matthew has no bruises on him at all. I focus on the living room and all of its activity - Summer and Seth beaming at their daughter, who's dressed like a miniature elf, Taylor and Bullit discussing the pros and cons of hunting rifles – which actually freaks me out a bit and where the hell did my wife learn so much about guns? Kaitlin and Justin are off in the corner, being sneaky and whispering to each other. Katie's sitting with Seth and Summer, cooing over Nicole and singing Christmas carols to her.

Nicole made out like a bandit this year. No one else's gift piles even compared to hers – much to Sophie's dismay. Which may actually be a good thing, because as much as I love the girl, Sophie's a little spoiled, because Kirsten and Sandy – Kirsten especially – are a little less strict with her than I think they were with Seth. It's just different for girls.

From Seth and Summer I got tickets to a soccer tournament – Summer's idea – and a t-shirt proclaiming that what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas – Seth's idea. Seth and Taylor happened to get each other the exact same anime DVD, but neither seemed to be upset about it. Actually, they'd ranted for a good fifteen minutes about the _genius_ of some foreign director until Summer stepped in and broke it up.

Sandy and Kirsten got me their yearly _too much_; Bullit got me some gold-plated belt buckle in the shape of Texas that I will never wear; dad and Julie got Taylor and I a new full-length mirror for our upstairs bathroom since Taylor smashed our last one because it was – and I quote – 'a circus mirror hell-bent on making me look fat'. Kaitlin got me a scathing bowl of sarcasm and a gift card.

But I think the best thing about this holiday is the way Cody looks at Taylor now. She doesn't see it – she's always been oblivious to things like this. He used to be really weird around her – always hesitant, never sure if he's saying or doing the right thing. Hell, I get it. I was like that with Sandy and Kirsten – Kirsten especially. But ever since she freaked the hell out this morning over his present, he seems… at ease with her. Like he doesn't expect her to kick him out of the house the next chance she gets.

I get that, too. It took me almost four years to figure out that, no, Sandy and Kirsten weren't going to throw me to the wolves.

"Ryan," Taylor makes her way over to where Sandy and I are standing in the kitchen, pressing her hand to her stomach. "Could you tell your son to stop kicking me all the time? He'll be good at sports, I get it. I don't need the constant reminder of him using my bladder as a soccer ball."

I grin at her – mirroring Sandy's expression near perfectly – as I place my hands on her stomach. "Baby," I address the bulge, "stop kicking your mother. She can't control her anger when she's annoyed and if you keep kicking her, they may never find my body and then you'll have to grow up with your Uncle Seth teaching you how to throw."

"Hey!" Seth calls from the couch. "I'm _great_ at sports. Remember that time I caught that football?"

"Cohen," Summer rolls her eyes, not even looking at her husband, "you 'caught' it with your face."

"Still, those guys said it was the coolest thing they'd ever seen."

"To be fair, though," Summer argues, still paying attention to her daughter and not Seth, "they were fifth graders, so you were probably up against episodes of _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ for title of 'the coolest thing they'd ever seen'."

"Was this the time you broke your nose?" Sandy chuckles and Summer nods. "Didn't that happen like, a year ago?"

"Unfortunately."

"See, baby," I whisper as everyone else continues their discussion. "You have to stop kicking mommy, or else you won't have me around to protect you from them." When I look up at Taylor, she's grinning at me. "What?"

"He stopped!"

_

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_

review


	6. Month 6

_For aqiran: I hope you did well on your test!_

_Also, know that this chapter was freakishly hard to write. I can't really explain it, but it was. So I hope this is satisfactory._

_Music: we are electricity, conducting sparks, shower with me_

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Month Six: January

Alright, if I add a wall here, and take out that closet, it'll open up the living room, give it an extra… eight and a half square feet. Then I can add the closet back in over…

Something makes me look up and I notice Taylor standing in the door to my home office. "Hey," I nod at her before letting my eyes drop back to the plans in front of me.

"Hey, baby," she steps in and leans against the doorframe. "Is it hot in here?"

"It's January…" I shrug, looking down at my long-sleeved shirt. I'm not hot, so it's probably just a symptom of her being pregnant or something. She gives me a little smile.

"Yeah, but it's so _hot_ in here…"

"Not really."

She huffs in annoyance, blowing the bangs out of her face and glaring at me.

"You're not _hot_?" she asks again, a little more forcefully as she comes into the room. "Because I'm _so_ _hot_ right now."

"If you want we can open a window or something," I shrug, frowning at bit, because instead of placating her, she just looks incredibly pissed off.

"Jesus, Atwood," she huffs again, "are you that oblivious?"

"Um… am I supposed to know what you're talking about?"

She rolls her eyes, like I'm an idiot. "I. Want. You."

"Oh… _oh_." She smiles again, the look in her eyes unmistakable. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the freakout ahead.

"Look, Taylor, I've got a lot of work right now. Maybe later?"

"Later." It's not really a question, and her face falls dead. "Right. Later." Then she turns and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Oh, _fantastic_.

* * *

Later?

What the hell did he mean by _later_?

Does he not love me anymore? Why doesn't he want to have sex with me? He _always_ wants to have sex with me. Or he used to.

Ok, so we haven't for a while, because I've been feeling really gross these past couple months. But lately I've been really antsy and I figured it out this morning –I'm horny as hell, and Ryan's my weapon of choice.

Until he turned me down, at least.

I keep pacing around the kitchen like a crazy person – because, come on, I am – going over it all in my head. Is it cause I'm fat now? That's alright, I guess, because hopefully after I have this stupid kid, I'll be back to my normal self.

But what if it's something else?

What if he doesn't love me anymore?

Alright, I need to talk to him before I drive myself _completely_ psycho. So I make my way up to his office again, bracing myself. He loves me, he just has a lot of work to do…

"Yeah." His voice drifts out into the hall, even though he tries to keep it down. "Yeah, that works." I pause outside the door and listen, waiting for him to finish his conversation. He laughs – which is weird; he rarely laughs for anyone outside the family. "You're amazing, Aly."

_Aly_?

Who the fuck is Aly?

"Can you meet me tomorrow? At the house – you know the one." He laughs again and hangs up and I slip away quietly.

* * *

"Thanks, Aly," I say as I sign the paperwork. "You saved my ass."

"I know, I'm awesome," she grins at me and takes the clipboard. "But the next time you want to go adding things all willy nilly, check with the zoning commission first so I don't have to do a bunch of last-minute shit."

"I know, I'm sorry. I've just been a little preoccupied lately." She quirks an eyebrow at me, then shakes her head.

"Right, you're wife's pregnant. Is she being all psycho-hormonal?"

"Yes, but that's not why I'm off." She waits expectantly until I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "There's this intern at work who can't get my coffee order right, and I don't work well without caffeine."

"Right," she grins, shaking her head again. "I'll see you later."

"Bye, thanks again."

She goes to her car and gets in and, as she drives away, I notice someone standing by another car.

Someone wearing giant sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat.

You've _got_ to be fucking kidding me.

With a groan, I make my way over to her and she starts to panic – obviously trying to decide if she should run or stay. Instead, she opts to duck behind a mailbox, like I won't be able to see her or something.

"Taylor," I monotone, coming to a stop in front of her. She pops up, eyes wide and then smiles at me.

"Ryan! Hi."

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," she sighs, running her finger along the mailbox and not looking at me, "just taking a walk, trying to stay in shape…"

"You drove to take a walk?" I ask, pointing at her car parked down the street.

"Well, a change of scenery is always nice…" I sigh loudly and she stops talking.

"Taylor, what are you doing here?"

"Fine. I followed you to see where you went with the blonde skank, ok? Who is she, Ryan? Hmm?"

"She's a lawyer, checking up on the neighborhood we're building…" I wave my hands at the buildings around us. Her eyes widen in panic again.

"Oh…"

"You thought I was cheating on you."

"No. Well, yes. Maybe." She bites her lip and pouts at me.

"And instead of confronting me, you freak out and stalk me."

"Um…"

"Go home, Taylor."

"Alright."

* * *

I make sure to keep Cody with me the rest of the day.

So when Ryan comes home after work, we're watching TV in the living room. He comes into the room and I scoot closer to Cody – wonderful, wonderful Cody, my protector. He watches TV and Ryan gives me a _look_ that I – successfully? – pretend not to see.

"You guys want dinner?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe and Cody nods eagerly. "Alright. Taylor, why don't you help me order?"

"I think I'll stay here with Cody," I try, unsuccessfully. He shakes his head slightly and I sigh and stand up, following him into the kitchen. "How about Thai?" I begin as soon as we're alone, busying myself with the menus.

"How about we talk about this freakish stalking problem you have?"

"Um… I think Thai would be better, you know… be a little more filling…"

"Yeah, this isn't a debate. I mean… seriously? It was bad enough when you used to stalk me because you missed me. That was flattering, at least. This is just ridiculous."

"I know!" I lament, turning to pout at him, which usually gets him to forgive me. Like I planned, it works and the annoyance drains out of him. "I'm sorry, I know I'm crazy and I know I _should_ have talked to you, because that's rational, but when have I ever been rational, Ryan? And I'm sorry, I get jealous and I get that _you_ don't get it, because God forbid you _ever_ be jealous…"

"I spent all of my past relationships being jealous, I'm trying to do this one right." His succinct, slightly cold response shuts me up and I fidget with my nails for a while. "So would you like to tell me why you thought I was cheating?"

I try to decide the right way to go about this – a rational and coherent list of the circumstances or a hormone-fueled, crazy person rant?

Hell, when have I ever been rational?

"It's cause I'm all fat and bloated and gross and I know you, Ryan. You like sex, you don't do well when you don't get it and I haven't been putting out… and now that I want to, you turn me away… and then I heard you on the phone all chatty and laughing and I followed you and you met that _woman_ at some shady looking house and you go inside for an hour and you come out all relaxed and happy…"

He doesn't sigh or say anything; it's his stare that makes me shut up this time. It's only when I trail off that he runs a hand over his face, sighs, rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath."Taylor, you're not fat or gross; you're pregnant. And it's not that I don't want to with you – cause you're still really hot and your boobs are _awesome_ right now – but… it's just creepy cause that's my kid in there. I can't have sex with you while he's _in there_." He gestures at my stomach and I frown down at it.

"We've had sex while I was pregnant before."

"Yeah, that was before you started to show, so I could forget I was doing you while my kid was there. But now I kinda _can't_ ignore it…"

"Oh my God, I _am_ fat!" I whine, pouting and he shakes his head.

"Not fat; pregnant."

"Same difference," I grumble, glaring down at the stupid thing. "Have I mentioned I _so _can't wait until this thing's out of me?"

"Me to," he mumbles, turning away and picking up the phone.

I glare at the back of his head, but I don't think he notices.

* * *

"So how was practice?"

Cody glances over at me and shrugs. "Fine, I guess. Sam slipped on the grass and almost broke his leg. Coach wasn't too happy; we have a game Saturday."

"Is Cassie going to the game?" I ask, trying not to smirk. He blushes and stammers something and I can't help but grin out at the road. But, as he fades into silence, my smile fades too. "You know," I start again, lowly, "someday, you're gonna have to learn to trust me."

"What?" his head whips around and his eyes widen in fear. "I… um… what?"

I sigh as we pull into the drive and I turn to him. "Trust. I thought maybe Chrismukkah'd shown you that you can trust us."

"I um… I don't know what you're talking about…" he stammers, not meeting my eye.

"It's your birthday today." He ducks his head but doesn't say anything and I sigh again. "In addition to getting your medical records when we adopted you, I also got your birth certificate."

"Oh."

"Why didn't you tell me?" His shoulders lift in a shrug but he stays silent. "I figured you'd tell me after Chrismukkah, that's why I didn't say anything before."

"Sorry."

We get out of the car and I stop him again on the porch.

"You know, someday, you're gonna have to realize that we're your family now. You're not getting rid of us; we're not kicking you out. Ever."

"Sorry," he mumbles again, but I see him smile faintly.

"Oh, and I want to apologize in advance."

He looks up at me as I unlock the door and we walk inside. "For what?"

"This."

The light in the living room goes on and the entire family pops out.

"Surprise!" Taylor and Sophie manage to shriek at the same time. Cody's eyes go wide and he turns an accusing look at me. I shrug.

"We've also planned a party with your friends Saturday after your game. They've all RSVP'd 'yes', so if you don't want the party, you have to uninvited them. And Cassie's coming."

"Fantastic," he mutters, but walks into the living room and Sophie runs up and tackles him, giggling.

* * *

"How does he like his party?" I ask when Ryan follows me into the kitchen. "I mean, was it too much? He hates it, doesn't he? He's probably wishing he'd never met us…"

"Taylor, he's fine," Ryan laughs lightly, tangling his hand in my hair and kissing my forehead. "He just doesn't say much."

"Seems to run in the family," I grin up at him and he shrugs. "Oh God," I gasp as the realization hits. "I'm going to be stuck here with _three_ of you now."

"Hey, he may end up like you," Ryan brings his hands down to my stomach. He takes a deep breath and flicks his eyes down. "If you can hear me in there, please don't."

"Hey!" I slap him upside the head and he grins. "I'm not that bad."

"You're horrible," he shakes his head and sighs. "You talk in your sleep."

"It's because I have so much to say," I sniff, moving past him and gathering more plates. "I mean, I'm so knowledgeable, you know, there's just so much I have to share with the world."

"That must be it," he monotones, taking the plates from me as we head back out to the party. "Your infinite wisdom."

"Definitely."

* * *

"Good birthday?" I ask as we stand in the empty living room. Taylor's outside, saying bye to everyone, and Cody nods.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Cause I want you to know, if you hated it? Just tell us. We're not gonna be offended. Taylor may get a little upset that you're not happy, but I won't, cause I get the whole hating surprise party's thing. Just tell us if something makes you uncomfortable, got it?"

"Yeah," he nods again, looking up at me, finally. "This was ok. Pretty much the best birthday I've had in a really long time."

"Don't tell Taylor that," I warn as we hear the front door open. "She has this thing with making bad childhoods better. She learns you had suck birthdays before and she'll go overboard next time."

"'Next time'?" he asks, quirking an eye at the – fine, he has a point – overabundance of decorations.

"It'll be worse. Trust me."

"Soooo," Taylor comes into the room, grinning perkily and elongating the word. "How does being fourteen feel?"

"Um, like thirteen, except nauseous. I think I ate too much cake." Taylor's face falls but I laugh and clap him on the shoulder, letting him know it's cool to go upstairs and rest.

Or puke, whatever.

* * *

"Glad you could make it, mother," I find myself monotoning at the woman as she sits down across from me.

"I was busy with a client, you understand," she waves me off. She doesn't even apologize, go figure. "What are you eating?"

"It's called a chocolate bundt," point at the thing with my fork. "I got hungry while I was waiting forty minutes for you."

I watch her roll her eyes, but she doesn't say anything about it and when the waiter comes up, we order our real lunch. She fills me in on all the juicy Newport gossip like I actually _care_, but whatever. Listening to her bitch about how Taryn's party last week at the Yacht Club was _such _a failure is better than listening to her tell me that I should _not_ wear my hair like that.

"Dessert?" the waiter drawls in the typical, bored, Newport way.

"I'll have another of those chocolate things," I smile and the man breaks his mask a little and smiles back. Mother shakes her head jerkily and he leaves.

"You're getting _another_ dessert? If you keep eating like that, you'll never lose the weight after you have _it_. And it's not like you were in perfect shape to start out with, so it'll be extra hard…"

"Let it go, mother," I sigh.

"Hit a nerve?" she narrows her eyes at me. "Has the felon not been affectionate as of late?"

"Ryan is fine," I mutter, but her lips quirk up triumphantly.

"I thought so. I _told _you you shouldn't marry him, but you didn't listen. And now you've gone and gotten yourself knocked up. Children just make it harder when he goes to leave you."

"Is that why you hate me?" I snap. "Did I make things _difficult_ during your divorce?"

"I don't remember," she purses her lips, thinking. "You were always with the nanny."

"Fine, whatever. And Ryan is _not_ going to leave me."

"Whatever you say," she smiles at me indulgently, like I'm some child.

"I'm happy, mom. Don't you get that? I'm _happy_. Is it really so much to ask that you just be happy _for_ me, or at least shut up about it? Not everyone's going to end up bitter and alone like you."

"Chocolate bundt?" the waiter interrupts, holding out the plate.

"Actually, can I have that to go?" I try to smile and his eyes flick from me to mother and he nods, like he understands.

"I'll get you a box and your check."

"Thank you."

We sit in absolute – horrific – silence as he leaves. She stares at me, arms folded, eyes narrowed until he comes back.

"Thank you," I take the box – still warm from the cake inside – and reach for the check.

"Here," mother whips out her credit card and shoves it at the man without even looking at the check.

"Thank you, mother," I say warily.

"Call it a birthday present," she huffs, taking her card back from the waiter, grabbing her purse and leaving.

"My birthday's not for another month," I tell the air, pulling some cash out of my wallet because – I'm assuming – she didn't leave a tip. The waiter thanks me and I leave.

* * *

She comes into the living room and settles down on the couch with me and doesn't say a word – just leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder and watches TV.

"You're home," I observe, like that isn't completely obvious. She just nods and I snake my arm around her shoulders. Honestly, I'd expected her back a while ago – her mother usually cuts their lunch dates short – 'business calls' and whatnot. Either that, or Taylor gets so upset that she has to leave. They rarely – if ever – make it through the whole lunch.

"I'm happy, Ryan," she whispers, finally. "You know that, right?"

Somehow I _get_ that she's not really asking me a question. She tells me all the time that she's happy - she knows I know.

"I'm happy, too," I tell the top of her head and I feel her smile against me.

Shit, did I actually say the right thing on my first try?

I must be getting better at this husband thing.

_

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_

review


	7. Month 7

_Wow, a chapter that isn't all about Taylor and her complete hormone craziness... Oh, and I had some leftover angst from Fallen, so I threw it in here. Fun stuff._

_Enjoy!_

_Music: can I touch you, are you out of touch? guess I never noticed that much_

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Month Seven: February

"Taylor?" I ask as she walks into my office, throwing her purse on my desk and sitting on the chair across from me. I look past her, out the door, and my secretary shrugs, giving me a look – _I wasn't about to try and stop her_. "What's wrong."

"Oh, nothing," she huffs, folding her arms over her stomach and glaring out the window.

"I thought you were supposed to go into work today?"

That, apparently, was the wrong question, because she makes a weird, whining noise and breaks into tears.

"I did! And you'd think they'd be happy to see me, I mean, I only go into the offices twice a month, it's not like I'm there every day, but _nooo_, no one's happy to see me. I didn't even do anything wrong! Alright, so I _may_ have slapped that woman, but she totally deserved it! Who said she could touch my stomach? I hate when people touch my stomach. Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I'm suddenly ok with everyone invading my personal space and _touching _me all the time and making these disgusting cooing noises."

I wait for her to take a breath before jumping in.

"Taylor, what happened?"

She finally looks at me and pauses for a second. "They sent me home."

"You hit someone?"

"Not _hard_," she whines, pouting. "And then they told me I should take my maternity leave early! I mean, how _dare_ they?"

"Well, you hit someone. You're lucky they didn't fire you."

"They wouldn't dare," she sticks her bottom lip out, giving her best impression of a four-year-old having a temper tantrum. "And can you believe they had the _audacity_ to tell me I should try to relax more?"

It takes every ounce of willpower to stop myself from saying the response that comes into my head.

Instead, I take a sip of my coffee, black, and thank whoever's listening that I, at least, have control over my mouth.

* * *

"Yoga, Taylor?" she says, scrunching up her nose.

"Yes, Summer," I reply as we walk through the door. "Apparently I need to 'relax' more, and Kirsten said prenatal yoga was good for you."

"Alright, why do _I_ have to come along, then?"

"Because I need support. What if I fall over? Then I'll crush my baby, and he'll die, and Ryan would never forgive me, and then he'll divorce me, and I'll wind up back in France, crying on some random poet's shoulder, and the next think you know I'll be fifty and married to some man I don't love and regretting the day I went to prenatal yoga and lost my baby and my husband."

Summer pauses in front of the receptionist's desk and quirks an eyebrow at me. "Wow."

"Maybe I shouldn't do this," I frown past the desk, to where all the pregnant women are spreading out their yoga mats.

"Oh, I think you _need _it," Summer breaths, pulling on my arm. "Or some heavy sedatives."

"I can't have sedatives," I argue as we reach the room. "I already asked my doctor for some, but he said it wasn't 'healthy' for a pregnant woman."

"Yeah, I was kidding about the sedatives."

We get into the room and spread out our yoga mats next to each other.

"Well, thanks for coming with me anyway," I sigh, frowning down at my mat. "Are you sure you're ok with leaving Nicole at Seth's?"

"Nicole's fine," she waves me off, a little coldly, which strikes me as weird. I'm about to say something, when we're interrupted.

"Oooh," a voice cries from next to us. "Newbies!"

"Oh, crap," Summer mutters, blowing a piece of hair out of her face as an older woman makes her way over to us.

"I'm Eva," the woman grins and sticks out her hand. "Five months."

"Um… I'm Taylor…" I reply, shaking the woman's hand. Her eyes flick down to my stomach, and I catch her drift. "Seven months."

"Is this your first? You look like it's your first."

"Um, yeah."

"I'm on my fourth," she sighs, spreading her hands over her stomach. Summer shoots me a look and I glare at her back when I almost break into laughter. "And how about you?" she turns to Summer and frowns down at her flat stomach.

"I'm Summer. One month."

"Well, how wonderful, getting an early start on the yoga."

"Yes, yes," Summer nods sagely, looking completely serious. "I figured why not? I didn't do it for any of my other six pregnancies, but since my husband let me out of the basement for this one, I decided to try and stay in shape."

Eva's eyes widen and she looks at me, and I smile consolingly at Summer, patting her on the shoulder. The woman clears her throat as the instructor enters and makes some excuse about getting started. When she leaves, I snort in laughter and Summer sits on her mat triumphantly.

"Alright, ladies," the instructor starts. "For those of you who don't know me, my name's Chaz. It looks like we have a few new faces," he flashes a bright white smile in Summer and my direction, "so those of you who've been here before, we're going to start off with our warm up exercises while I help the newer ones follow along."

"That doesn't make me feel incompetent at all," I mutter to Summer, who rolls her eyes at me.

"Be nice, Townsend," she hisses, smoothing out her hair. "He's cute."

"He teaches yoga to a room full of pregnant women," I shoot back. "I doubt he's straight."

"You never know. Plus, I'm not pregnant, and I look _good_."

"You're also married," I mutter back, but she doesn't acknowledge it, instead smiling as Chaz makes his way over.

* * *

"I think Summer's going to leave me," Seth whines. I glance over at him and resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"No she's not."

"Yuh huh," he argues. "All she did yesterday was go _on_ and _on_ about her new yoga instructor. _Chaz_. What kind of a name is _Chaz_ anyway? It's a stupid name."

"Maybe he was just a good instructor," I shrug, letting the controller drop to my lap when he KOs my character. It's actually kind of sad that Seth is _still_ a better player than me, even when he's playing with his eight-month-old daughter on his lap.

I think the sadder part is, he lets her hit buttons on the controller sometimes, and he still wins.

I essentially lose to an eight-month-old.

"See, that's what I thought at first," he continues, not even noticing the irony of my defeat. "And then I went by the yoga place – you know, for research purposes – and I saw him. He's like… the definition of _jock_. Shit-eating grin and all."

"Don't say shit-eating in front of your daughter," I say automatically. "And don't worry about it. Summer loves you."

"I can't believe you're taking it this so well," he sighs, starting up a new game.

"What d'you mean?" I frown, trying to throw my sword at his character.

"Well, usually you hate when good looking _Newport-ish_ guys come around your women."

"Summer's not…" I start, trailing off when he _looks_ at me.

"You didn't know it was prenatal yoga?"

"No."

"Taylor didn't tell you about it?"

"Apparently not."

Seth shoots me a _told you so_ look and lets Nicole hit a button, which somehow makes my character's head explode.

* * *

"How do I look?" Summer smoothes down her hair and tugs the hem of her shirt straighter.

"You look like you're a married mother of one, going to prenatal yoga," I roll my eyes at her. She, in turn, glares.

I honestly don't know what's gotten into her lately. She's _married_ to Seth, but every time we go to yoga, she flirts nonstop with Chaz, laughing like she's back in high school, trying to suck up to the faceless jocks at one of Holly's parties.

It's sickening, really.

And it kind of pisses me off, because I'm fond of Seth, and she's not being a very good wife. Because really? If Seth were off, flirting with some girl, Summer would go into one _serious_ rage blackout, but apparently she's allowed to do it.

I think the worst part is, while she's here flirting with the blonde, muscled yoga instructor, her husband is looking after their daughter.

I kinda wish I'd never brought her here in the first place, and I've tried telling her we shouldn't go anymore, but she said she'd continue to go – because it's _'good_' for her. Which means I'm still going, because there's no way in hell I'm leaving her alone with him.

And then there's the awful side-effect where I'm lying to my husband to cover for her. Because if I tell him where I really am, I know I'll end up spilling everything. And because he's Ryan – and loyal – he'd tell Seth what's up, and I don't want to ruin their marriage over something that may turn out to be nothing.

But I think, when we go for our daily post-yoga lunch, I may have to have a serious conversation with her.

* * *

My secretary quirks her eyebrow at me, but doesn't say anything, and leaves the room.

I continue to tap my fingers on my desk, not paying any attention to the work in front of me.

I'd asked Taylor this morning what she and Summer were doing today, and she told me they were going to the spa, then out to lunch. And against my better judgment – I _should_ be able to trust my wife – I went down to the yoga place Seth told me about, and sure enough, she and Summer were in there, talking to what I can only describe as a Luke-clone. Tall, blonde, tan. Shit-eating grin.

I almost went in there and punched the fucking bastard when Taylor put her hand on his arm, pulling his attention away from Summer and to her.

She put her fucking hand on his fucking arm.

I don't think I've felt a rush of pure _hatred_ that strong since…

Oliver.

Shit.

I didn't ever hate of any of Marissa's boyfriends – Luke, DJ, Alex, although she was technically a girlfriend. Even Johnny, I never _hated_. Even Volchok, I didn't hate to that extent. And Henri-Michel, while he made me want to punch him, didn't evoke that blinding hatred.

Probably because I knew – deep down – that the bastard wasn't really a threat.

I mean, honestly. He didn't bathe.

And considering the way I could get Taylor to _scream_ my name, I just knew she'd never go back to the asshole.

But Oliver?

I hated him, because he terrified me.

Which is why, instead of going into the yoga place and letting my fist tell _Chaz_ that he looked like a douche, I went back to my office and ordered a cup of coffee.

I need to rationalize.

Which is weird, to think how far I've come. How long ago was it when I wouldn't even think of rationalizing before using violence?

Alright, I'm an adult, I need to rationalize.

One, Taylor was talking to her – attractive, tanned – yoga instructor. Two, she put her hand on her arm. Three, I had a moment of blind rage.

It's obviously not an Oliver situation. I don't know this Chaz guy, and he looks harmless. So it's not fear.

Her hand was on his arm.

While my child grows inside her – completely unaware.

I take a mouthful of coffee and close my eyes.

I'll give her another chance to tell me what's going on.

* * *

The house is quiet when I come in, and I keep it that way, tiptoeing up the stairs. When I get to the bedroom, I head automatically for the master bath, throwing my purse on the bed on the way. I stare at myself in the mirror for a few seconds before letting my legs give out.

And, sitting on the edge of the tub – the gorgeous bathtub, carved out of marble, designed for me by my wonderful husband that I'm lying to – I cry.

It's not like normal – I've been crying a lot lately, over stupid things and raging hormones.

This isn't stupid. This isn't hormones.

Summer and I haven't fought in…

Have we ever really fought?

We've yelled before, like that time, right after graduation when I told her she had to call Seth and she yelled at me for keeping a secret. But she came to the airport and we made up, and we never really fought after that.

Summer's my best friend; I'm just trying to look out for her. But when I confronted her about Chaz – and the fact that she has a husband and a daughter – she told me to back off.

In fact, I think her exact words were _'stay out of this, Townsend'_.

Townsend.

Not Atwood.

Then she threw a twenty on the table and left the café without saying another word.

I lied to my husband for her. I lied to _her_ husband for her - the other day, when Seth asked what we did on our daily outings.

And the worst part isn't the fight. How could she do this to Seth?

It's Seth and Summer.

They're unbreakable.

Right?

* * *

I haven't confronted Taylor.

I meant to, but I can't seem to get the words out. Like some sort of sadist; I think I'd rather stew in my own paranoia than confirm anyting.

Every day she tells me she and Summer are going to the spa and instead they go to yoga. Every day, she comes home with less and less to say to me. Every day she says less and stares off into the distance more.

Every day, she avoids me more.

Valentines Day's come and gone.

We went out to dinner, I bought her a dozen roses. She barely looked me in the eye.

I feel slightly numb; like everything's slipping away and I can't do anything about it. I just thought all this shit would go away, now that we're married.

Who was I kidding.

I'm an Atwood.

It never goes away; marriages don't last.

The thought makes my hands shake an my lungs stop working.

* * *

"Hey."

He comes into our bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed and I put down my book.

"Hey," I say back, staring down at the comforter.

I can't look him in the eye anymore; he'll know I'm lying to him. And the constant guilt stops my mouth from forming any words. I know he senses something's off. He gives me looks sometimes; like he knows. But how can he? If he knew, he'd have told Seth and I would've heard something about that, even with Summer not talking to me.

She still goes to yoga and so do I, to keep an eye on her, but she doesn't talk to me. The only person she talks to is Chaz, so instead of relaxing like I'm supposed to, I spend the entire session trying to get Chaz's attention, so Summer can't.

When Ryan takes my hand in his, I look up in surprise. He brings his other hand out from behind his back and places a tiny box into my upturned palm. Then he lets go, and I pull off the shiny silver wrapping and open the box.

"Oh," I whisper, pulling out the white gold necklace, diamond hanging off the center.

"Happy birthday," he murmurs. Birthday?

"Right." His eyebrows furrow and he seems to realize that I hadn't even remembered my own birthday.

"Alright," he mutters, more to himself than to me, bringing his hand up to run over his face. "How long are we gonna avoid this?"

"Avoid what?" I manage to croak out, letting my eyes drop to the bed.

"This…" he takes a deep breath, hands clenching in front of him, "_yoga instructor_ guy."

"How do you know about that?" I breathe, eyes wide, and his head snaps up to look at me.

"How do I know about _that_?" he repeats, voice strained.

"I meant _him_. How do you know about _him_?" I backtrack hurriedly.

"Shit, Taylor," he gets up and starts to pace, clenching and unclenching his hands as he does. "I didn't actually believe… shit, there's a _thing _to know about?"

"No!" I protest. But he obviously already knows, so I let my shoulders drop. "Fine, yes."

"Shit," he repeats, hands shaking. "Shit. Fuck, I'm gonna fucking kill him. Fuck."

"Ryan," I try to sit up more, struggling a bit when my stomach gets in the way. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" he hisses, finally pausing and turning to me – eyes flashing, angry. "You want me to fucking _calm down_?"

"Yes, Ryan," I narrow my eyes at him, finally managing to stand up. "I know you love Seth…" he reels back a bit in confusion, but I continue on, "but I'm not even _sure_ anything's happening."

"How the fuck can you not be _sure_ you're screwing around with your yoga instructor, and what the _fuck_ does Seth have to do with this? Does he know? I'll fucking kill him…"

"What?" I snap, taking a step back and my knees hit the bed again, but I manage to stop myself from falling back. "You think _I'm_ the one flirting with Chaz?"

"Flirting?" he snarls back. "Is that what you call it?"

"Well, unless they've redefined _flirting_ since the last time I dictionaried it, yes. And let's pause for a second and rewind to the part where you think it's _me_ flirting with him."

"I saw you," he accuses, but his voice falters, like he's not absolutely sure anymore. "I went by the place and you were all… touching him and laughing with him."

"Ryan…"

"And every _fucking_ time I asked you where you were and you lied to me…"

"Ryan," I say, louder this time. "It's Summer."

"Summer."

"Yes. She's the one flirting with him."

He doesn't look convinced, so I lean forward and grab his arm, tugging him to sit next to me on the bed. Then I take a deep breath and launch into the story, starting with Kirsten telling me about how much she enjoyed prenatal yoga – despite the annoying Newpsies.

* * *

"I'm still worried," she murmurs, hand covering mine on her stomach. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, tightening my arm around her, pulling her back into me. "About Seth and Summer. She's not talking to me anymore."

"It's Seth and Summer," I rationalize, mumbling it into the back of her neck. I don't even open my eyes because – as much as I love Seth – I can't seem to care right now.

Because it's not Taylor.

She's not cheating on me; she's not leaving me.

She's right here, laying with me on our bed, our joined hands on her stomach, our breathing synched and steady and rhythmic.

I'll worry about Seth later, right now I want to be with my wife and my son.

Speaking of.

"Cody'll be home soon," I whisper to her.

"Right, he has practice today."

She shifts – which takes a lot of effort on both our parts – and turns over onto her other side to face me. "He doesn't know anything weird was going on, right? Like… we don't have to tell him it's ok?"

"If he did notice something, he didn't say anything," I frown, trying to think back. Actually, he _has_ been giving me weird looks lately… "I think if we go back to normal, he'll realize it was nothing."

She nods and bites her lip. "Thanks for my present," she murmurs, hand going to her throat to touch the diamond. "It's beautiful."

"I figure I can just buy you a diamond every time I fuck up," I try to joke, but she frowns at me.

"I think I messed up this time," she admits, voice low. "You had every reason to assume… and it's not like I haven't jumped to conclusions before…"

"Well," I sigh, "I'm not going to buy you a diamond every time either one of us fucks up. I'll be buying you diamonds every other day, then." My joke works, and she laughs, burying her head into my chest. "But we should get ready."

Her head lifts and she wrinkles her brow at me. "Ready for what?"

"Well, Cody's getting home soon, and then we're going over to the Cohens for your birthday."

* * *

My birthday's a rousing success.

Kirsten and Julie fawn over my new necklace; Sandy rolls his eyes and mutters something about how he'll have to go out and buy something like that for Kirsten, now. Ryan and Seth joke throughout dinner, Kaitlin adding inappropriate comments.

I get a pile of presents ranging from rare anime to books of poetry to passes for a free spa day.

It's a wonderful night.

Or it would have been, if Summer had been talking to me.

She doesn't, though. No one seems to notice – except Ryan – how she doesn't say one word to me the entire night. And I'm pretty sure she's realized I've told Ryan, because she keeps glaring at me and giving Ryan warning looks – telling him not to breath a word to Seth.

And when we get home that night and I put all my beautiful presents on the desk, I sit on the edge of the bed and cry as Ryan holds me.

_

* * *

_

review


	8. Month 8

_Le sigh..._

_Alright, I didn't think I'd have to put this in, but apparently people are reading further into it than they should. No, Summer did not actually cheat on Seth. And no, she's not just being a bitch. There's a reason. There's always a reason. Have some faith, people._

_As for that reason, I honestly didn't see this plot coming. It just kind of happened. Although maybe I should say I had this planned all along? Cause that makes me sound better. So yeah, I totally had this planned..._

_Enjoy!_

_Music: you are my center when I spin away, out of control on videotape_

**

* * *

**

Month Eight: March

"So what's this really about," he laughs uncomfortably. I bite my lip and pick at my nails.

What am I supposed to say?

"I don't know what you're talking about…"

He sighs, shifting Nicole in his lap.

"Look, I get that you're probably trying to protect me, but I'm not stupid."

"Seth…" I start, but he shakes his head.

"I know I'm selfish a lot, but I'm not stupid. And I know something really bad must be going on if you're here and not Ryan."

"That's not true," I try, but he doesn't take the bait. Instead he seems to crumple, like the fight's gone out of him completely.

"It's Summer," he says. He doesn't _ask_, because he already _knows_. "And since you're here with me, that means you couldn't get through to her, which means Ryan's the one trying, which means it's bad."

"Seth…"

"Just…" he cuts me off, letting his eyes focus on his daughter. "Just tell me. Am I gonna lose her?"

* * *

"Atwood," she monotones at me and I can't decide if she's mocking me, or if she's just that uncaring.

"Cohen," I shoot back – our standard greeting, but this time it means so much more. _Cohen_, I'm reminding her.

"Did Taylor send you?" she sneers, still turned away from me. "I figured she would eventually."

"Well, you know, I _am_ capable of thinking for myself," I lean up against the counter next to her – letting my voice remain calm, so she knows I'm not going to let her get to me. Whatever her problem is that's made her revert into complete bitch mode, I'm not letting it get in my way. "And since Seth's my brother and my best friend, _I_ decided it was about time I came to talk to you."

"Whatever," she huffs, continuing to chop whatever weird vegetable she's into these days.

"We're a lot alike, you know," I remind her, voice calm. "I don't think people get it, but we are." She rolls her eyes at the counter, like she doesn't believe it. "I get it – the restlessness." Her chopping slows, but she doesn't acknowledge anything. "The feeling like you're trapped; suffocating. I get it. Getting married, having a kid, growing up. It was your choice to do it; you made those decisions, you knew they were coming, but now that they're here – now that you have no choice… I get it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says lowly, hand tight on the knife.

"I think you do. You went from party girl to social activist to stay-at-home mother and wife. I get it. The feeling like you've been _domesticated_. I get it."

"Look, I don't know about you, but I'm not _cattle_. Go sort out your domestication issues with Taylor."

"But see, I'm not the one sabotaging my marriage – my life. You are."

"Get out of my house." She puts down the knife and turns to me, eyes flashing. I've known her long enough to know the start of a rage blackout when I see it, but I've never been one to back down from violent situations before.

"No. You're hurting Seth. He may not know what's really going on, he may not know about this yoga guy, but he still _knows_ something's wrong."

"Whatever, get out."

"He doesn't deserve this," I warn her and her jaw clenches angrily. "He's loved you consistently since you were nine years old, he doesn't deserve whatever the hell this is."

"Shut up, Atwood."

"He's always been there for you…"

"_Shut up_."

"Even when you pushed him away after Marissa died…"

"I said shut up!"

Her hand connects solidly with my jaw, stinging pain numbing the area.

There's a silent pause; dead air; absolute still; suspended animation; her eyes wide in horror as she stares at me.

I break it finally, lifting my hand to my cheek, which feels hot, still stinging.

"Oh God," she breathes, bringing her own hand up to cover her mouth. "Oh God, Ryan, I'm so sorry…"

* * *

"She barely looks at Nicole anymore," he admits, voice low and broken. "I've seen her looking at the GEORGE website again." His arms tighten around his daughter and his head hangs low. "The other day, I found her wedding ring in the car. When I gave it back to her, she got angry."

I don't even bother telling him that I'm sure she's fine.

She's not fine.

Not with everything Seth's just told me – things he hasn't even told Ryan.

I didn't think Seth could bottle things up, I thought he told everyone everything. But the things he's been holding back… They've been fighting. Summer leaves Nicole alone and doesn't take the baby monitor. One day Seth came home and she was by herself in the kitchen – out of her crib – while Summer was up in their room, sleeping.

It's been going on for months and he hasn't said one word.

He's scared. He doesn't admit it, but I can see it. He's absolutely terrified and he doesn't know what to do and I honestly don't know what to tell him.

I don't know how to make this right.

* * *

"It's just… one day I'm traveling around, saving the world and then I _blink_ and suddenly I'm in this house, feeding my daughter with a ring on my finger, and I _can't remember how I got here_." She blinks tears back and takes a deep, shaky breath. "Chaz… this has nothing to do with Chaz, he's… nothing. I don't know what I'm doing; I don't know why, but sometimes I feel like I can't breathe. And I can't talk to Taylor, she doesn't understand. She loves being married - to you, at least; I don't think she could imagine ever feeling _trapped_. And how can I tell Seth? How can I tell him that I love him, but I need room to breathe?"

She lets her head drop and for the first time in a while, it strikes me how _small_ she is; curled up into herself on the giant white couch in her living room.

"I get it." Her head raises slightly and I make sure to catch her eye.

"Do you?"

"Like sometimes it feels like you're drowning? Like you can see the surface, and you keep trying to swim toward it, but there's something around your feet and you never get any closer and you know that if you try and open your mouth to call for help, the water will rush in and kill you. I get it."

"I feel like a horrible human being," she whispers, shaking her head. "I love Seth and I love Nicole – I love them more than anything, Ryan, I do." Her voice raises a little, pleading with me to understand. "I just…"

Something sparks in the back of my mind. "How long have you felt like this?" She pauses and her eyes shift out of focus for a while. My theory comes together in my head; my certainty that her feelings of being trapped are rooted in something _completely_ different from mine, and I answer for her. "Since Nicole was born, right?" She can't seem to answer, instead settling for shaking her head yes.

And as I think back, it makes so much sense. During the first few months she was wildly protective, crying whenever she was away from Nicole for any extended period. But it never hit me till now how _hard_ she would cry; how she'd hold Nicole to her and _sob_.

And it never hit me how, lately, I've only seen Nicole with Seth.

I look up at her and she looks up at me and I see it in her eyes. She knows.

"I think I need help," she whispers.

* * *

"Maybe I should cancel my shower," I whisper, pacing back and forth.

"No," Kirsten reaches out and grabs my arm as I pass by her. She pulls me to sit next to her on the couch and lays her hand on my shoulder. "I think what Summer needs right now is normalcy. I think she needs to know that we're all here for her and that nothing has to change."

"But… she was planning on throwing me the shower, and I don't want to put the burden on her…"

"I'll do it."

I look up at Kaitlin, who doesn't even try to pretend like she doesn't care. "I'll do it. You'll have your shower, we'll party, everyone will eat cake, and Summer can come and have a good time, stress free."

"Thank you," I whisper, reaching over the coffee table to take her hand. She lets her defenses drop for a brief second and takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.

I close my eyes and I pray – to the God I've only recently decided is there – that Summer will get better.

* * *

"You're doing better," Sandy observes, looking over at his son.

Seth stands over the grill, poking at a cooking burger idly, and shrugs. "It's just… it has a name now, you know?"

I glance over at Sandy, who nods. I think he knows what it's like – they have different symptoms and different causes, but putting a _name_ to it, whether it be alcoholism or postpartum depression… putting a name to it means it's _fixable_.

"And she's at Taylor's baby shower," Seth continues, trying to infuse his voice with enthusiasm. "She seemed excited to go, and she took Nicole." He seems to think the burgers are done, because he starts to scoop them off the grill and onto the waiting tray, which he brings over to the table.

The six of us – me, Seth, Sandy, Frank, Bullit, and Justin – all grab our own and start to eat. Cody and Matthew come out from inside and grab theirs before going back in to continue their videogames.

I'm infinitely grateful to Cody, taking Matthew away. He knows about Seth and Summer – Taylor and I told him – and he suggested that maybe Matthew – being only eight – shouldn't have to hear things like that. So he offered to take Matthew inside to play videogames so the rest of us could support Seth.

"She sounds like she's doin' better," Bullit offers, surprisingly calm and subdued.

"We talked a little. She told me she does love me and Nicole," he shrugs, a little uncomfortably.

"She does," I cut in, making myself sound completely sure. "She told me, when we talked."

Seth nods at me and goes back to eating, silent and contemplative.

I'm just glad he's stopped thanking me every chance he gets for _getting through_ to his wife.

Taylor asked me how I did it.

How was I supposed to tell her I related?

That we both felt trapped, and Summer could open up to me because I understood?

I just told her I pissed Summer off until she broke, which is half true.

Which is better than the whole truth.

* * *

No one mentions it.

We sit in the living room and play games and I open presents and we eat and we laugh.

But there's a tension that starts with Summer, but no one says anything, because she's _trying_.

She's embarrassed – that she almost screwed things up, that she's in therapy again, that she didn't realize until now that she had a problem.

In her lap, Nicole giggles wildly as Summer dangles one of my presents – a bright blue miniature stuffed bear – in front of her face. But her smile starts to fade and tears form in her eyes as she tries to maintain it.

"She looks like she could use some more food." It's Katie that says something, gesturing down at Nicole. "Why don't I take her to get her some more?" Summer bites her lip and nods, handing over her daughter to the woman. "Sophie, why don't you help me?" Sophie nods excitedly and runs after Katie, leaving me, Summer, Kirsten, Julie, and Kaitlin in the room.

"Sorry," Summer whispers, hanging her head.

"It's ok," Kirsten places her arm around her daughter-in-law's shoulder and hugs her. "You're trying, that's all that matters." Summer nods and sniffles, trying to smile again.

"It's just such a nice party and I don't wanna ruin it."

"You're not," I insist. "Summer, as wonderful as all this is," I direct that at Kaitlin, who did a fantastic job with my party, "all I care about is that you're ok."

"Which makes me feel worse!" she admits, frowning. "This is your day, but everyone's worried about _me_."

"I don't care," I tell her, stubbornly. Kaitlin nods as well, letting her know that the party she planned in no way measures up to Summer's happiness. "I want you to get better, and you will."

"Admitting you have a problem is the hardest part," Kirsten tells her calmly, and Summer ducks her head in acceptance of it. "Believe me."

"I know," Summer says. "I just feel like I should've realized it before." To be honest, I feel like I should've seen it before, too. But I've just been so caught up on my own life, that I just didn't see it. And really, it's not like Summer having weird mood swings is anything strange - she _does_ have rage blackouts... I can't blame it on that, though. I haven't been paying attention - not like I should have been. Not until it was almost too late. The thought makes me reach over and I'm unnaturally relieved when she takes my hand without hesitation. She doesn't look up, though, just shakes her head. "Like... how did no one say anything? Why didn't Seth say anything?"

"Seth loves you," Kirsten says gently. "We all do. No one wants to think that someone they love has a problem. It took Sandy... _months_ to confront me, and that was after nearly twenty years of marriage."

"I should've seen it coming," Summer insists.

"How could you?" Julie cuts in defensively. Summer sighs and stares down at the floor.

"My mom," she says quietly. "My mom had depression. That's why she left my dad; she ran away because she couldn't handle… us. Me."

"Oh honey," Kirsten coos, pulling Summer into her.

I watch my best friend curl up into the woman; like a child seeking comfort and protection.

* * *

"Happy birthday," she whispers and I lean forward to blow out the single candle. "Did you make a wish?"

"Yeah," I smile at her over the cake.

"Are you sure you don't want something bigger? I could still call the Cohens and arrange something…"

"No," I shake my head. "Seth and Summer need their alone time. This is perfect."

She nods, but doesn't seem convinced. I don't know why she's not – I don't like big birthdays.

It's taken a while, but Seth and Summer are mending. She's going to therapy every week, and she's keeping a strict watch on her diet and making sure she sticks to a set sleeping schedule. She makes sure to spend time with Nicole and Seth every day, seperate alone time with both of them, and then family time for them all. She makes them dinner every night and she and Taylor go out for lunch a lot. She's doing better, making progress.

I'm not letting my birthday be anything big; I don't really care. All I really need is the knowledge that, somewhere out there, I have a family that cares about me.

The presents don't suck, either.

"Can we eat the cake yet?" Cody asks, tapping the handle of his fork on the table. Taylor grins at him and gestures for me to cut the cake. I divvy it up and we all dig in, content to revel in the sugar and the peace.

My family; soon to be joined by one more in less than a month.

My wife; my son, soon to be sons.

I may feel restless sometimes, I may feel like I'm drowning, but it's times like these that make me realize how happy I am. I have a loving family and I think it's normal for everyone to panic; for everyone to wish sometimes that they could go back. And I think Summer's finally getting that, too.

"This cake is so good," Taylor sighs, shoveling more into her mouth.

"You made it," I accuse.

"I know, I'm quite talented," she smiles and Cody snorts.

"You got it out of a box," he reminds her, which makes her pout at him.

"Whatever, I still say I'm a domestic genius."

"Of course you are, honey," I soothe with a smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she reaches across the table and takes my hand.

"Ew," Cody mumbles, shaking his head.

"Look away," I tell him solemnly as I stand and lean over the table to kiss my wife.

Cody dutifully ducks his head so he can't see and I hear him mutter something about us being disgustingly mushy.

_

* * *

_

review


	9. Month 9

_Well, midterms are this week, and I haven't been sleeping well, so I've decided to post this before things get too crazy and I like... die from exhaustion or something. _

_Also, I decided to lighten things up again, after the past two depressing ones. And there's only one more chapter to go after this._

_Enjoy!_

_M__usic: and all the stars crashing round, as I laid eyes on what I'd found_

**

* * *

**

Month Nine: April

"Get it out of me," she begs, one hand on her stomach, the other on her forehead. "Get it out of me, Ryan."

"Taylor, it's only a couple days late." I sit on our bed, helplessly, as my very pregnant wife paces back and forth in front of me.

"The doctor said the fifth," she argues, voice rising in her panic. "He said the fifth and it's the eleventh, Ryan. Why isn't he coming out?"

"Dr. Pierce only _estimated_ the fifth."

"I can't do this anymore," she says to the air in front of her, not really even paying attention to me. "I can't do this."

I wonder if there's any point in telling her she has no choice.

* * *

"Can I get you anything?" Cody asks, sitting next to me on the couch and adjusting the pillow under my feet.

"No, I'm fine," I sigh, ignoring the fact that I'm so totally not. I'm hot, sweaty, fat, hungry, and I can't get comfortable. All the pillows in the world don't help, neither does the fan.

"Why'd Ryan go into work?" he leans back against the cushion and focuses his eyes on the TV. I'm currently in the middle of a _CSI_ marathon – I've tried watching other shows, but it seems like blood and gore are the only things that don't piss me off right now. "It's Saturday."

"I threw a bottle of lotion at him," I sigh as Grissom and Sara deny their obvious mutual attraction on the screen.

"Uh huh," Cody monotones and I sigh again.

"And maybe a stapler, but I swear, that's it."

"Why?"

"He asked me if I wanted pancakes."

"I can see how that'd piss you off."

"It's the _way_ he said it," I argue, trying to shift to face the blonde boy next to me. "He's so _condescending_ sometimes. He's all '_can I make you pancakes_?' like I'm completely helpless."

"You're right. That totally deserves a stapler to the head."

* * *

Sunday night.

It's Sunday _fucking_ night and where am I? Not at home, watching _Dexter_ with my wife. Not at the Cohens, having a family dinner. Not at Seth's, playing video games.

No.

No, I'm in my office, because it's the only place no one will bother me.

I'm a shitty husband, aren't I? Hiding from my wife, my brother, my family.

Especially my wife.

I swear, I can't do anything right – not in her eyes. Yesterday, I ask her if she wants pancakes and I get heavy metal thrown at my head. I thought we were ok today – today she _asked_ me to make her pancakes. I did – with chocolate chips thrown in – and she was ecstatic. That was – of course – until I left a couch pillow out of place and she started crying.

Over a pillow.

I know it's not me; I get it. I'll go home tonight and she'll tell me she's sorry and she'll give me those big pouty eyes and I'll tell her it's ok and I love her. But until she calms down, I just can't make myself go home. She just keeps _panicking_. It's more than that she wants the baby out of her; I think she's scared something's wrong.

I hear my office phone ringing and I can't help but wonder who the hell is calling my office on a Sunday night. I lean over to look at the caller ID… the Cohens.

Right, I shut off my cell phone, cause Seth kept calling every three minutes. It's probably him again, and I'm almost tempted not to answer it, but if it's Sandy or Kirsten, I should.

"Hello?" I sigh heavily into the phone.

"Ryan?" Kirsten huffs, sounding hassled. "Why are you at your office?"

"I just needed some air," I tell her, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Taylor…"

"Is having her baby right now," Kirsten interrupts and in the background I can hear Sandy talking to Sophie about getting her jacket on. "She couldn't get a hold of you on your cell, so she called Summer and Summer called us. They're on their way to the hospital right now."

"Shit," I hiss and she doesn't even correct me. "I'll see you there."

Oh _shit_.

* * *

"No!" I shriek, slapping the cup of ice chips out of Seth's hand. "I can't do this!"

"Taylor, hun," Summer grabs my swinging hand and forces it to the bed. "Calm down."

"I can't do this," I repeat, lower this time, much to the relief of the nurse in the room. "Why isn't he here Summer? I can't do this without him."

"He's on his way," Kirsten soothes, placing a cool hand on my forehead. "He'll be here soon."

"Good," I nod, letting my head rest back against the pillow. "Then it can just stay inside until he gets here."

"Yeah, babies don't really work like that," Seth scrunches up his face, then dodges my fist.

"Alright, I think we have too many people in here," Dr. Pierce maintains a safe distance from me, out of arm-swinging range.

"C'mon, Soph," Sandy gives me one last, attempted reassuring, smile before he takes his daughter outside. Seth takes the opportunity to go with him. Summer and Kirsten stare at one another but I close my eyes tightly, ignoring the _Jesus Christ, holy shit, I may actually die from this_ pain.

"Ryan'll be here soon," Summer whispers and presses a kiss to my forehead before leaving the room. Kirsten holds my hand and the doctors and nurses start doing things and I'm not quite sure what's going on.

"Kirsten?" She leans forward, because my voice comes out small and disjointed. "Is it time for the drugs yet?"

* * *

"Where is she?" I pant, leaning my hands on my knees in the waiting room.

"Wow, 'bout time, Atwood," Seth drawls, lounging in a chair. "I think everyone else in the world beat you here. Way to be a stand up father."

Something in me snaps and I lunge forward, grabbing the front of his shirt and half-hauling him out of his seat. Sandy manages to separate us before I start yelling and Seth falls back into the chair – eyes wide and panicked.

"You need to calm down," Sandy shakes me by the shoulders, holding my eyes. "If you go in there like this, you'll freak her out. Calm down."

"Alright, I'm ok," I hold my hands up in surrender. "I'm ok."

He nods and lets me go, pointing to a room.

I don't miss the _look_ Seth and Sandy give to each other, nor the one they shoot Frank.

* * *

"Ryan!"

He comes into the room like something out of my dreams and wraps his arms around my head, whispering something into my hair. I'm not quite sure what it is, I can't exactly hear him.

"Ryan," I say again as Kirsten leaves the room, "I was in the kitchen and my water broke and Cody was grossed out and we couldn't reach you and then Summer came over and Seth was being Seth and then the hospital people were all dressed in white and Kirsten said you were coming and then they shoved a needle in my spine…"

"Shh, calm down," he whispers and this time I can make it out.

"You read to have a baby?" Dr. Pierce asks us, smiling as he sits on a stool between my legs.

"Do I have a choice?" I mumble, which gets a laugh out of the nurse.

"Not really. Alright, here we go…"

* * *

It's weird.

I think I was expecting something like on TV.

But the little bundle in my arms doesn't open his eyes, doesn't stretch out his hand to me. He lies perfectly still, breathing, sleeping.

His mother does the same five feet to my left; exhausted and worn. She'd tried to stay awake; insisting she wasn't tired. I don't know how she _couldn't_ be; after… what she did. Oh God, what she _did_. How is that humanly possible?

"Ryan, honey?"

I don't have to look up to know it's Kirsten, so I don't. She comes into the room and sits on the chair next to me, but I can't take my eyes off him.

My son.

Shit.

"He's beautiful," Kirsten murmurs, keeping her voice low; I'm assuming so she doesn't wake Taylor up.

"He's got her nose," I whisper back, which is weird. Because of all the things I _could_ say – all the things I _should_ say – that's really low on the list. Kirsten seems to recognize that, because she laughs lightly, reaching her hand out.

And then promptly pulls it back when I flinch.

"Not yet, huh?" she sighs, sitting back in her chair. "You know, at some point, you'll have to let other people hold him."

"Not true," I shake my head, eyes still on him. "I can hold him in one arm and do everything else with the other. It'll work out fine."

"Alright, then you know at some point, you're going to be _forced_ to let other people hold him. Summer won't take kindly to you hogging him, and I can't say I won't steal him from you, either."

"Fine," I relent, because I don't care right now. I'll deal with _Summer_ later. "Just not now. I just…"

"I get it," she whispers back, hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "He's beautiful; you should be proud of yourself."

"Taylor did all the work," I smile slightly, eyes flicking up to my still-sleeping wife. "I just knocked her up." Kirsten laughs at that, softly.

"Either way. He's amazing. Now, I'm going to go tell everyone you're both… not ready to let people see him. Summer won't be happy, neither will Seth and Sandy, but they'll understand. Plus, I think it's safer to keep them away."

"I almost punched the nurse when she took him away," I murmur in response, which earns a snort from her.

"Congratulations, honey," she stands up and kisses my temple before leaving the room.

I continue to stare at my son.

* * *

I realize I'm conscious before my eyes open.

I'm not in my bed, but I am in _a_ bed. And that's when it hits me – how much I ache. Why?

And then I notice that I feel empty; like something's missing; and I pass my hand over my stomach.

My eyes fly open.

Where's my baby?

Immediately, I focus on the corner of the room, where Ryan's sitting, holding a bundle of blankets.

My baby.

I must've made some noise, because he looks up at me – eyes wide; shocked.

"Ryan," I croak out, lifting one hand toward them.

"Hey."

"Ryan," I repeat, voice louder. "Baby." He stands and walks over to the bed and I scoot over as much as possible so he can sit on the edge. "I wanna hold him."

"You sure? You look tired…"

"I'm sure." I manage to push myself up into a sitting position, and Ryan passes David over to me – keeping his hands hovering, like I'm going to drop my own child.

"He has your nose," Ryan offers when I'm finally holding him fully. That makes me laugh – a loud exhalation of air, followed by tears rushing to my eyes.

"Is it ok if I cry?" I ask, leaning into him.

"I think you've earned the right," he kisses the top of my head, arm coming to rest under mine, helping me hold our baby up, and I completely break down.

* * *

"Welcome home, baby," I whisper, leaning down to touch his cheek with my finger.

It's weird – I was here when we put up the crib. I remember taking it out of the box. I remember reading the instructions – that were all in Swedish or something, because Taylor just _had_ to have expensive, European furniture – and assembling it. I remember painting it.

And it's weird, because all through that time, I never actually pictured my son in it. Like, I _knew_ I was having a kid, I _knew_ this would be his crib, but it didn't seem real.

Still doesn't.

I keep waiting for it to hit me, that this is my child, not just some loaner.

I think I'm still in awe, though.

Yeah. Awe.

That's my excuse.

I refuse to admit I've actually cried.

I don't cry.

Alright, maybe I _teared up_ a little…

I don't cry – no matter what Sandy tells people.

"Hey…"

I turn to the doorway, where Cody's standing.

"Hey," I whisper back, so as not to wake David.

"Taylor's asleep," he tells me, coming to stand next to me at the crib. "She told me she was going to rest her eyes 'for a second' and then fell asleep."

"Good," I smile, shaking my head. "She needs it." Cody nods, because he knows I'm right. She hasn't stopped _moving_ ever since she woke up in the hospital. She's refused to sleep more than five hours a night – _swearing_ that it was an hour more than she usually got. Now that we're home, I hope she gets more sleep.

"He's really pink," Cody tilts his head, squinting his eyes like that will change anything.

"That's your brother you're talking about," I mutter darkly, lowering my hand to touch my son's nose.

"Which means I get to make fun of him," Cody shrugs, ducking his head over a smile. "I'm just getting practice in."

Well crap, now I can't get mad at him.

"Fine," I sigh as David's tiny hand opens, reaching up and closing around my finger.

_Holy shit._

There's a second of silence before Cody speaks.

"You're not gonna _cry_ again, right?"

* * *

I make my way into the living room and sit on the couch – gently – next to Ryan. His eyes are glued to the TV, but he lets David play with the fingers of his left hand. It's a completely unconscious move – holding his hand up as David grabs it in his tiny fist – and it makes me want to cry again.

Which is annoying.

Honestly, I think I've cried more times in these past nine months than I have in my entire life. I'm not a crier, it's not really in my nature – I prefer, rather, to face a situation head on and resolve my problems rather than lament about them. And I know Ryan hates tears, so I try not to ever cry around him, in my brief moments of weakness – which happen occasionally. Although, apparently _Ryan_ was crying at the hospital the other day – according to Sandy, at least.

Oh well.

I just hope I can keep it together right now, because my body's still a disaster area, and watching Ryan hold our son, so comfortable… it makes me want to cry.

And then I look at the TV.

"Ryan," I huff, blowing the bangs out of my face. "UFC? Shouldn't we wait a _little_ while at least before we go introducing him to violence?"

"What?" he defends, looking over at me. "You were watching _Monster Quest_ with him last night!"

"Yeah, that's educational," I argue, but he rolls his eyes.

"So's this."

"I highly doubt our son will have to go through his life defending himself like you had to," I roll my eyes right back at him.

He shrugs, then, and his eyes go to the sleeping newborn in his arms. "Money doesn't automatically make life better," he murmurs, lifting his index finger to run it along David's cheek.

"No," I agree, softening my voice as well, "but a loving family? That does."

"Yeah," he whispers, eyes raising to mine in silent acknowledgement.

_You were there, too_.

I'm infinitely grateful that David will know his family loves him. He won't grow up feeling abandoned; feeling ignored.

I went through it; Ryan went through it; Cody went through it. Even Summer went through it. Seth was a social outcast. Kirsten was iced out by her father; Sandy ran away from his home. Julie struggled to find a better life; Kaitlin was shipped off to boarding school and ignored.

How can a group of people – so abandoned, so flawed – create such a family?

It's amazing.

And I realize – as I look at my sleeping son and his enraptured father – it's a miracle.

_

* * *

_

review


	10. Month 10

_This went a lot longer than I originally intended it to, because I just couldn't come up with a good place to end it. It probably doesn't help that I just… wrote this chapter. I didn't really have a plot planned out or even any slight idea of what I wanted in here. So it feels a little random to me, but hopefully it works._

_And I hope this is vaguely up to par, because honestly, I'm in the middle of about four projects/research papers, I work full time, go to school full time, and on top of it all, I'm ungodly sick. I wrote this during one of my (many) bouts with insomnia (I've been getting about 4-5 hours of sleep a night for the past two weeks), so I hope it's ok. I apologize in advance if it sucks._

_Thanks to all of you who've been with me through all the Vegases, and even those of you who've only recently joined. I thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy the last chapter._

_Music: I've been walking you into those lampposts again, but I'd rather do that, then let go of your hand_

**

* * *

**

Month Ten: May

"So how's everything?" Kirsten asks, pouring me a cup of coffee. Her eyes go immediately to the carrier on the table, the sleeping little boy inside.

"Everything's good," I tell her, following her gaze.

We're in the kitchen – Taylor's in the living room with Cody and Sandy, doing God knows what. Sometimes she freaks me out, with the conversations she has with people. One time I overheard her and Bullitt discussing the pros and cons of various sniper rifles, and how while one may have a larger range of effectiveness, it doesn't matter if that rifle is, in fact, harder to shoot.

I honestly don't know where she gets this stuff, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she goes on the internet while I'm at work and just… reads Wikipedia for hours. It wouldn't surprise me.

"He's quiet," she says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah. Taylor says he gets it from me," I smile. She'd been overjoyed that he'd had blue eyes, and sometimes I catch her staring at his head, like she'll be able to see the hair growing. For some reason, she wants him to look exactly like me. I keep telling her she's a lot prettier than me, she should want David to take after her.

"And how is she?" Kirsten asks, handing me the coffee. "Sleeping well?"

"I guess," I shrug. "She panics a lot. Like, she'll wake up at every little sound and freak out, even if it's just me shifting or something outside or Cody getting up to get water. And when the baby does make some sound…"

"But other than normal mother worries, she's good?" Kirsten prods, and I turn to look at her.

Right.

Summer.

* * *

There's a knock on the door and I shift David to one arm and make my way downstairs to open the door. Summer's there with Nicole, and I stand aside to let her in.

"Hey," she breathes, walking into the living room and placing Nicole's carrier on the floor, and she sits on the couch, facing it. "I thought we'd stop by, let my daughter meet her future best friend."

I giggle and sit on the couch, shifting the sleeping baby to my other arm. "We can only hope," I sigh.

Honestly, I'm not sure how well that plan of Summer's will work out now, because it was a nice thought when we thought David might be a girl…

"Oh, it'll happen," Summer sniffs, smiling a little. "So how are you?" I look over at her and she clears her throat and adds, "and Ryan?"

I turn to her and she's just _staring_ at me, eyes seraching my face and I sigh. "I'm fine, Summer. No mood swings – well, apart from my usual. No anger or depression or anything of the sort. I'm fine."

"If you're sure," she says, like she doesn't really believe me. "But I will be watching you, you know."

"So is everyone else," I sigh. Apparently Kirsten had been asking up on me, too.

I should be annoyed, but it actually makes me giddy.

People _care_.

* * *

"Hey," I say as I walk into the kitchen, where she's obviously making herself lunch. She turns to me and smiles, putting down a knife.

"Hey, you're home early."

"Yeah, my client bailed on me. Something about car troubles. I convinced Branson I could work from home the rest of the day." I walk over and kiss her and she smiles against my lips, but doesn't pull away. Instead, she relaxes into me, letting her arms loop around my neck and she lets out a contented sigh.

So far so good, but I keep my movements slow, so I don't surprise her. When she's fully relaxed against me, I trail my lips over her jaw, down to that spot below her ear. She lets out a small groan and tilts her head slightly, to give me better access.

After a few minutes of this, she starts to wriggle against me, pushing her hips into mine, arms tightening around my head.

"Are we actually gonna do this?" I groan against her neck, keeping my hands on her waist – just in case she says no.

"Oh, we're doing this," she mutters, disengaging and grabbing my belt. "We're _so_ doing this."

"But I'm wearing a condom this time," I try to laugh as she yanks the belt out of its loops and manages to get my jeans open _without_ ripping the button off.

"Stop talking," she orders, stepping away from me and lifting her shirt over her head. "Take off your pants."

My head seems to forget that we're in the kitchen and my pants hit the floor as I start to struggle out of my shirt – which actually takes a lot more effort than it should, really. I find my lack of coordination only mildly irritating and embarrassing, because really, I'm too busy staring at her chest as she reaches behind her back to take off her bra.

I manage to fling my shirt across the room – where it lands on the microwave – reaching down to readjust myself and I completely freeze when a sharp cry rings through the kitchen, sounding tinny and distant.

Taylor freezes as well, hands at the buttons of her jeans, and we both turn toward the baby monitor.

"Shit," I whisper. "Shit."

"Oh God," she breathes, eyes widening, and she buttons up her pants as another, more insistent, cry sounds through the thing. "Oh God," she repeats, mumbling to herself, "I'm such a bad mother." She picks up my shirt and throws it on and rushes out of the room; not even looking at me, like she'd forgotten I was there.

* * *

"Shh," I soothe, trying to rock him gently.

I still don't have this mother thing down; more often than not, I have to get Ryan to come in and stop David from crying. And I try to pretend like it doesn't hurt that he cries more with me, or that Ryan can always calm him down.

In my arms, my son still cries and I wonder – not for the first time – if babies can sense fear. You know, like dogs can. Can a baby _tell_ when you're absolutely terrified that you'll accidentally drown him in the sink, or leave him in the supermarket, or set him on fire with your horrible, horrible cooking skills? Because if they can, than that _totally_ explains why David seems to hate being held by me – unless, of course, he's feeding. When he's feeding he doesn't seem to mind. Typical male.

After what seems like forever, Ryan comes into the room, wearing a new shirt because – _right_ – I took his.

"We're never having sex again, are we?" he sighs, sitting on the chair opposite me.

"Shh!" I scold, curling David to my chest more to hide him from the words. "Don't say the 'S' word!"

"Story of my life," he mutters, running his hands over his face.

"Don't get snippy with me," I tell him, glaring.

"Well sorry, it's just I've been celibate for how long? I'm sick of jac-"

"Don't say that word, either," I snap. "Honestly, Ryan, watch the language. And you haven't been celibate. I've given you plenty of… happies, thank you very much."

"Sorry," he apologizes again, but this time he means it. "He stopped crying," he observes, switching the topic.

"Cause you're here," I say, resisting the urge to whine.

"You're the one holding him," he reminds me, attempting a smile.

"Ryan…"

"You're doing fine," he insists, leaning back in the chair with a sigh. I look down at David's sleeping face and I feel like maybe I should sing him a lullaby, but it strikes me that I don't know any.

* * *

I stand in the doorway nervously, but I'm honestly too scared to move an inch.

She stands over the crib, staring down, face completely blank. She hasn't said a word in almost three minutes. But then David stirs, turning onto his back and his eyes open, and she rears back, like she's been slapped. Then she turns to me.

"He has your eyes."

"Well I am the father," I say, swallowing hard. Then I mentally kick myself for the stupid answer, and her lips curl up into a smirk.

"So," she says, clearing her throat loudly, but not moving from the crib. Instead, she looks down again, tilting her head, as if trying to figure out my son. "How is my daughter?"

"She's good," I tell her, stepping further into the room. Honestly, I'm not sure why she's here, what she wants, or even why she cares. But she is, and I'm trying not to give her any opening.

"So the birth went well?" Veronica asks, hands tightening on the rail. "No… problems, medical trouble?"

"No," I answer, almost hesitantly. "Why?" For a split second it hits me that maybe Veronica _wanted_ her daughter to have birthing problems, but I push that aside. No one's _that_ awful, right?

She takes a deep breath, but doesn't turn to look at me. "I had some trouble," she answers, voice tight. "I was anemic for a while, and when Taylor came out, the cord was wrapped around her neck."

"Taylor was fine," I come to stand with her over the crib. "David came out healthy."

"David," she repeats, eyes still stuck on him. "I'm surprised she picked such a normal name."

"My idea," I shrug, smiling a little as I think back to some of the ridiculous names she'd come up with, back when we found out it was a boy. I believe _Francois_ had come up at some point.

"Good," she nods. "Please keep her sensible."

I turn to look at her, but she doesn't return the favor. She wants _me_ to keep her daughter sensible? I mean, I see where she's coming from, cause Taylor's insane, but… Veronica _hates_ me. "I'll try," I manage to get out.

Finally she sighs and looks away from the crib, like she's snapped back into reality. "Yes, well. I know I didn't come to the shower," she sniffs, rigid again. "So here." She reaches into her giant purse and pulls out a worn, beaten stuffed dog. "It was Taylor's grandfather's when he was a kid. I never gave it to her because she was scared of dogs."

"Thank you," I take the thing. It's soft and squishy and its head falls limply to the side.

"So," she looks over at the wall and brushes some imaginary dirt off her skirt, "where is my daughter?"

"She had to go into the office today," I say. She only has to go in a couple times a month, but this time she'd gone kicking and screaming, even though I took a personal day to stay home with David. "She should be home soon," I venture, trying to sound casual. "If you wanted something to drink, you could wait."

She turns back to look at me.

* * *

I guess the good news is I didn't get sent home early, this time. Although I had been filled with nervous energy the whole time, during all those tedious, pointless meetings. It's my first day away from my son, and they made me sit through a seminar on safety measures and natural disaster plans.

I know these meetings are mandatory for everyone, but seriously, way to make me panic. The entire way home, I've been picturing some horrible earthquake, Ryan and David being crushed under things while I was away. But I get to the house and it's not fallen or flooded or burnt down, and my panic settles.

A little.

I almost forget my briefcase in the rush to get inside, but I manage to get to the door with no stumbling or tripping or any of my normal nervous tendencies. I throw my purse onto the hall table and make my way into the kitchen, where I hear something clank.

"Mom." I stop in the doorway as my mother looks up.

"Taylor," she says back and next to her, Ryan gives me a little half smile.

What the hell is Ryan doing sitting with my _mother_? How has she not… killed him by now or something. Or the other way around.

"She came by to see David," he tries to explain, nodding his head toward the carrier on the table.

"Oh," I say, walking forward and dropping into the chair across from them.

"I brought you Mr. Fedora," she says, and Ryan snorts in amusement. That's when I see the dog on the table and I smile a little.

"Thanks. Hopefully David won't have my canine-phobia," I say, reaching forward to touch Mr. Fedora's ear.

"Well, hopefully David won't be attacked by the neighbor's dog," mom sniffs, and it strikes me that she's really uncomfortable.

"Satan was evil," I shake my head, shivering at the thought.

The Franks next door had a giant black dog that they had – appropriately – named Satan. When I was five, Satan had gotten loose and held me captive on the front porch of our other neighbor's house. My mom and dad had been fighting at the time and hadn't even noticed I was gone until the Jordans got home and found me – and Satan, prowling in front of the gated porch.

"They're lucky I didn't sue their as-" she cuts herself off before the curse escapes, eyes flicking over to David.

We sit in silence for a while, mom sipping at her tea and Ryan drinking his coffee and me fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. When David shifts in his carrier and makes a little noise of contentment, all of us turn to look at him.

"So," I start eventually, breaking the silence. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"

* * *

"Oh, well look at you!" Julie coos, lifting David over her head and grinning. "You're just so handsome!"

"Julie," Taylor protests, looking absolutely panicked and holding out her hands like she wants to take David back. Julie ignores her and continues to hold David up above her head as she walks into the kitchen, Taylor trailing behind, protesting.

"He looks like you when you were a baby," dad grins and pats me on the back, looking proud. I nod, trying not to tense.

I was ok with dad. Before all this, I was ok. We were getting along, we talked, it was ok. But these past nine months have been like a snowball effect; one tiny stone of fear rolling down the hill.

I don't want him near my kid.

I know it's not fair; I know he's been doing better. I know he's been good with Matthew and Julie but I don't care. I don't want him _near_ David. But it's not like I can really say anything – not without causing major drama and a lot of longstanding problems. I don't want him near my son, but I don't have any reason to ban him.

You know, besides the fact that he used to beat me shitless when I was a kid.

And then there's the problem where if I say something, I'd have to _say_ something, and even though I know everyone knows – or at least suspects – I'm just not ready to have all of my childhood drama out on display. I don't want to upset Kirsten or Taylor; I don't want to piss off Sandy; I don't want to scare Seth. And if I tell my dad to stay away from David, that'll cause problems with him and Julie and if something goes wrong there, who's to say that won't tip dad over the edge?

Julie and Taylor come back into the room, this time followed by Kirsten and Sandy. Seth and Summer sit on the couch, with Nicole on Summer's lap. Kaitlin and Justin are in the back yard doing… I honestly don't want to know.

"We could watch him," dad says, smiling at David. "You know, if you and Taylor ever want to get away for a little, Julie and I could watch him. I'd like to get to know my grandson."

My heart freezes in my chest and the words die in my throat.

Fuck him. Shit, why is he doing this to me?

I notice that everyone starts to look up at me when I don't say anything. I manage to avoid Sandy's eyes, because he's giving me that _look_, like he knows.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Taylor sighs, taking David gently from Julie's arms. When everyone turns to look at her, I almost sigh in relief. Taylor gives everyone a smile, bouncing David a little, keeping attention focused on her. "I'm having some issues with leaving him. I have a feeling we won't be needing a babysitter for a long while. So thank you, for the offer, but it's not necessary."

Frank nods, looking a little disappointed, but he accepts the explanation.

Conversations start up again and Taylor makes her way over to me and kisses the top of David's head.

"Thanks," I whisper and she nods imperceptibly. Across the room, Sandy nods in my direction, like he's proud of me.

Right, I keep forgetting he doesn't really like dad.

* * *

"You know, if you ever need us to, we can watch him," Sandy says, repeating Frank's words almost verbatim, but getting a completely different reaction.

This time, Ryan doesn't tense up and look like he's having war flashbacks. Instead he grins, turning to look at me.

"I was thinking we could use some time to ourselves," Ryan says, lifting one eyebrow – asking me if I want that, too.

"But David…" I protest a little, frowning.

"Will be ok with us," Kirsten assures me. In the living room, Seth and Summer call out that they're leaving – Julie and Frank and Kaitlin and Justin left earlier. The front door closes and Kirsten lifts her eyebrow in mirror of Ryan's. "Trust us, we've done this before."

Of course she has – Seth, Sophie, Nicole, even Matthew. They've taken care of a lot of babies, David's no different. Well, except for the fact that he's mine.

And Ryan's, of course.

"We'll let you know," Ryan grumbles, rolling his eyes and tugging at my elbow. We wave goodbye to the Cohens and at the car, Ryan starts settling David into his car seat. "You know, we're going to have to get some time to ourselves eventually, right?"

* * *

"I love Sandy and Kirsten," she pants, turning her head to look at me. I swallow hard and nod, staring up at the ceiling.

It had taken about three minutes after Sandy and Kirsten left with David – fully stocked on milk and diapers and Mr. Fedora – for Taylor to be alright with it. Well, maybe she wasn't so much 'all right' with it, as she was 'horny', but whatever, I'll take it.

"We should have them babysit more often," she continues, apparently getting the energy to roll over and lay her head on my chest. "Not too often, though," she says, frowning a little. "I miss him. Is that bad? Should I not miss him this much? I mean, should I be less worried about how he is right now?"

"You wanna call Sandy and Kirsten?" I ask, hand already reaching for the phone. Honestly, I'd thought about it to, I'm just glad she said something first. I don't really wanna be _that_ needy. I hit the appropriate buttons and wait for them to pick up.

"Ryan," Kirsten's voice is half amused, half scolding. "Shouldn't you be spending time with your wife?"

"Well," I start, suddenly uncomfortable. "You know, it's just… Taylor wanted to know how David was."

"Ah," Kirsten says, and I can hear her smile. "And because you're such a good husband, you gave up your precious time to fulfill her wants."

"Of course," I say, even though we both know its bull.

"David's fine. Sleeping right now."

"Let me talk to her," Taylor whispers, reaching for the phone. I roll my eyes and hand it to her. "Hi Kirsten," she chirps into the phone, smiling broadly. She makes general sounds of agreement as she listens to whatever Kirsten's saying – which is, obviously, more than what she told me.

It actually makes me smile – how well Kirsten knows me. She _knows_ Taylor needs a long-winded description, but all I need is to know how he is, and what he's doing right now.

After a while, though, I start to get impatient, especially when she starts asking a bunch of questions that – frankly – are pointless. But I know that Kirsten's probably answering them all enthusiastically – taking her role as grandmother way too seriously.

I sigh, but she doesn't notice.

I trail my hand down her side, but she doesn't feel it.

I shift closer, but she pays no attention.

But when I lean down and press a kiss to her collarbone, she looks down at me, almost scolding. "Alright, I gotta go, Kirsten," she says, staring straight at me. "Tell David we love him." Then she hangs up and puts the phone on the bedside table before turning back to me. "You have another condom, right?" she asks, rolling onto her back and pulling me on top of her.

I sigh in annoyance, grabbing one from the drawer. I hate condoms. One little mistake and I'm subjected to them again.

But what a mistake it was.

I'm still not quite sure how I ended up here – married, a father. How did I get here? It feels like yesterday, I was standing at a payphone in Chino, praying that my lawyer would answer. It feels like yesterday, I had no hope of a future, nothing to look forward to.

Now I have… what?

My kid's; my wife; my family.

I have birthday parties and first days of school and graduations and weddings. I have my child to raise. I have another kid to take care of; to try and fix like the Cohens fixed me. And who knows, maybe someday we'll have another kid – maybe a girl, this time. One that looks like Taylor – with her big eyes and bright smile.

Although maybe not.

Cause then I'd have to worry about beating guys off with a stick.

David and Cody could help me, though.

"Ryan?" Taylor whispers, taking me out of my daze. "You in there?"

"Yeah," I grin, shaking my head loose of all those thoughts. "Just thinking."

"About what?" she gasps as I enter her.

I take a minute to debate whether I should tell her I was thinking about having another kid, but I don't really feel like bringing up children while I'm having sex with her, so I press my lips to hers, mumbling "you" against them.

That seems to have been the right thing to say, because she grins and wraps her legs high up on my back and I close my eyes and lose myself in her, because we only have another hour before Sandy and Kirsten drop David off – before my life has to start again.

Sometimes I want to run away from it – sometimes it freaks me out so much I just want to bail; run hard and fast and start over in some other town where I don't have any responsibility. Where I don't have anyone looking to me to take care of them. I wonder if this was how mom felt – when she ditched me. I wonder if this was how Trey felt – when he got on that bus. I wonder if it's genetic – the urge to run whenever things get the least bit hard. Hell, I've done it before.

A couple times, actually.

I'm not sure what's kept me here, this time. Maybe it's the girl – woman, I guess, now – beneath me. Maybe it's the Cohens. Maybe it's Seth and Summer. Maybe it's my job.

Or maybe it's because I finally feel like I belong here – after all these years, I finally feel like I _fit_ and not like I'm just along for the ride, holding on with both hands and trying not to fall off.

Maybe it's because it all finally feels _right_.

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